


Holidate

by Kitmistry



Series: Kitmistry's Holiday Fics [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Christmas, Destiel LifeMark Bang 2020, Easter, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fourth of July, Halloween, Holidays, M/M, Minor Aaron Bass/Dean Winchester, Minor Ash/Jo Harvelle, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Minor Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer, Minor Gabriel/Kali (Supernatural), Mutual Pining, Netflix Holidate AU, New Years, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Thanksgiving, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitmistry/pseuds/Kitmistry
Summary: Dean and Castiel hate the holidays! Their enduring singledom leaves them subject to the judgment of their meddling family members or stuck with clingy, awkward dates on each festive occasion. When these two meet, they pledge to be each other’s plus-ones for each holiday celebration over the course of the year.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Kitmistry's Holiday Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075259
Comments: 75
Kudos: 181
Collections: Destiel LifeMark Bang





	1. Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Destiel LifeMark 2020 ](https://destiellifemark.tumblr.com/) Challenge.
> 
> Okay, this is not a lifemark movie, but I think it fits the criteria of being cheesy, tropey, and holiday-themed perfectly, I couldn't resist writing a fic when I saw the trailer. Before you read this, however, I want you to know that this was written before I watched the movie (half of it was written before the movie had even started streaming) and the plot has little to no resemblance to it. Be warned that this has very little plot but a lot of fluff and cheesy moments. I'd say it's funny, too, but who am I kidding? I'm the least funny person there is.
> 
> Of course, this fic wouldn't have been completed without [ theimportanceofbeingvictoria's ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimportanceofbeingvictoria/pseuds/theimportanceofbeingvictoria) help, who held my hand through all the writing and personal struggles this year was filled with. You're awesome, and I couldn't have done this without you. Your input made this fic ten times better. Also a huge thank you to [ K A Mindin ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_A_Mindin/pseuds/K_A_Mindin) for all the help (and the commas). A huge shoutout to our mods for running this fun challenge for us <3
> 
> *CW: alcohol, recreational drug use, idiots in love*

“And then _she_ said, that I was, like, not cool just because I didn’t want to hold her hair back while she was puking or whatever. Like it’s my fault that she got herself drunk—”

Dean downs his whiskey in one gulp while he tries to ignore his date rambling on and on. This is worse than he had imagined. He can’t fathom how Jo and Ash can still sit with her and pretend to care.

Sam plonks down on the couch next to him with a long sigh. He turns to Dean with his best effort at a not-bitch-face. Fails miserably. “So. This is _interesting_.” 

“I don’t need a lecture,” Dean grumbles. “What I need is another drink.” He nods towards his empty glass and makes to get up, only for Sam to pull him back down.

“Dean, we haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“I won’t make it through dinner at this rate.”

Sam scoffs. “You brought her here. Remember?”

Dean’s face twitches against a wince. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Her name is Starla,” Sam points out. “That should have clued you in from the start.”

Deep down inside, Dean has to admit he knew this was going to be a disaster, the girl was downing purple nurples when he met her—which Sam will _never_ find out, not as long as Dean has a say in it—but it’s the holidays and he’s the only one out of his family and friends who’s chronically single. He didn’t want to be the only one sitting by himself at the dinner table again. Sam has Eileen, and Jo has Ash, and, of course, Ellen and Bobby have been disgustingly and grumpily in love for as long as Dean can remember. 

It’s times like these he misses John. Though missing his dead father only because he was an alcoholic mess who made Dean feel better about being single during the holidays is just sad. At least it’s a sobering enough thought that he puts his glass down. 

There’s the sound of someone clearing their throat and Eileen’s head appears around the kitchen door. She signs something quickly at Sam, then disappears back inside to help Bobby and Ellen put the finishing touches on dinner. 

Even with his limited knowledge of sign language, Dean understands enough to know Ellen wants somebody to make Starla shut up or she will. The thought sends goosebumps down his arms. 

“Eileen said—” Sam begins.

“Yeah, I got it,” Dean cuts him off. “Gimme a minute. It’d be rude to throw her out on Christmas Eve, but maybe I can distract her by asking her to help me finish the pie. That should appease Ellen.”

“Sounds like a plan. Go in there and work your magic, and I’ll try to get Jo and Ash to interrupt her every time she talks during dinner. That way, hopefully Bobby won’t pull out his shotgun.”

“On it,” Dean says and springs out of his seat. Time to work his magic and save the family dinner he ruined. 

Sam and Dean’s plan works, but only barely. Somehow, they make it through two hours of everyone talking over Starla without her complaining too much. The food is good, the alcohol is plenty, and when it seems like Ellen has just about enough and _will_ throw Starla out, Dean sweeps in like a proper gentleman and offers to drive her home. The girl is pretty much wasted by that point and doesn’t put up much of a fight. 

With Starla inside her apartment and her door locked (Dean waited right outside to make sure of it), Dean drops his head against the steering wheel. It’s too early to head home. He doesn’t feel like going back to Bobby’s and having to deal with them staring at him for the rest of the night either.

So he screwed up. At least he knows it and tried to fix it. He doesn’t need to be reminded of it for the rest of the night. No, at this point, his best choice is probably the bar near his apartment. The bartender is a friend and will keep his glass filled for as long as Dean stays there. 

_Yay for the holidays_ , Dean thinks, starting the car. 

His mood is still sour when he settles on one of the barstools. 

“Rough day, brother?” Benny grins at him.

“You have no idea.”

“The usual then?”

“Make it strong,” Dean asks, shrugging off his coat and melting against the bar top.

It’s a fairly busy night, he notices, most of the tables occupied by groups of friends or couples enjoying a drink and Benny’s amazing food. Their chatter scatters through the room, bubbly bits and pieces of conversations about the holidays and gifts reaching Dean over the low music. Everyone seems happy enough.

Except for the guy sitting further down the bar. 

Dean zeroes in on him, half because the guy is nice to look at, and half because he looks so downright miserable. He seems like the only guy in this room who might understand what Dean is going through.

The guy sighs heavily, grabs his glass, and throws the whole thing back.

Bingo! Might even keep up with Dean’s drinking.

“See something you like?” Benny asks with a knowing smirk as he places Dean’s glass of whiskey in front of him.

Dean decides it’s not worth rising up to the bait. “That guy,” he says instead, nodding with his head in the direction of the lonely stranger. “How long has he been here?”

Benny shakes his head. “About an hour I think. Has been drinking non-stop since then. I might have to cut him off soon.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Dean says under his breath. He pats Benny on the shoulder, grabs his drink, and marches right up to the man—dark hair, blue eyes, pink lips; not bad—but not what Dean’s here for. “Hey.”

The guy glances in his direction, heavy dark circles more noticeable under the unflattering orange light that hangs over the bar—Dean’s been bitching to Benny to change it for months!

“Hello.”

Dean gestures at the empty barstool next to him. “Do you mind?” The guy shrugs, and Dean climbs on the seat. “I’m Dean by the way.”

“Castiel.”

“Castiel, interesting name,” Dean says. “So, _Castiel_ , what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this on Christmas Eve?”

Castiel snorts. “That’s the worst pick up line.”

“I wasn’t’ trying to pick you up,” Dean tells him offended, though his face feels several degrees warmer. “I was just trying to be friendly. You look frustrated, and I thought it might be fun to sulk and get drunk together.”

Piercing blue eyes land on him and hold his gaze, something like intrigue shining in them. “Spending the holidays on your own?”

Dean nods his head from side to side as he considers that. “More like I just ruined my family dinner and now I’m here drinking because that’s easier than facing their judgmental asses.”

“Oh, rough,” Castiel comments. He raises his glass in a silent toast. “That just might be worse than my own night.”

Their glasses clink together, and Dean takes a sip from his drink. Then another. The alcohol sits warm in his chest, but it’s nowhere near enough yet. “Care to share?”

“It’s not that interesting,” Castiel says, frowning at his glass. “It’s the usual drama that comes up at family dinners.”

“Someone died and you all gathered to open his will except there’s a killer among you who murders you one by one?” Dean throws a wild guess.

That earns him an amused smile. “That’s ‘usual drama’ for you?”

Dean has to bite down his own smile. The finger quotes are kind of adorable. “That’s what Hollywood would have us believe.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry Hollywood has left you with impossible expectations. My night wasn’t anywhere near that exciting.” He narrows his eyes at empty space and cocks his head to the side. “Actually, it was kind of exciting. I’m going to be an uncle.”

“Mazeltov,” Dean says, reaching to bump his glass against Castiel’s again. “But that’s a reason to celebrate, not drink yourself stupid with a stranger.”

“Yes, but see, it’s a reason for my father to remind me I’m single. And childless. And a failure of a human being because I didn’t rush to procreate the moment I was out of college.”

The words come spilling out of Castiel’s mouth, hurried and annoyed, increasingly annoyed as a matter of fact. Dean signals for Benny to get them another round. 

“That sounds…” he opens and closes his mouth in quick succession looking for words. “That sounds… I’m sorry but how old are you exactly? Because you don’t look a day older than thirty.”

“Thirty-three,” Castiel declares and snatches the new glass Benny drops in front of him to hold it high above his head. “Thirty-three and single, and apparently the family’s black sheep.”

“No offense, Cas,” Dean says. “But your family sounds like a bunch of assholes.”

“Oh, no, no, no.” Castiel’s so fast to turn to him that scotch sloshes past the rim of his glass and spills over the bar counter. “No, they’re very nice. Lovely people, all of them actually. It’s just that my father has this idea of what a fulfilled, perfect life is in his head, and he has to remind me every chance he gets that I don’t fit that idea. And not because I’m gay, but because I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“So you’re the only single one?” Dean asks.

“I—well, yes. But it’s not like I have time to date. I’ve just started work at Lawrence General and I also volunteer down at the animal shelter.” His eyes shine all of a sudden. “And Anna _says_ she has a boyfriend, but he’s French and lives in Europe and so we haven’t actually met him. He could be a lie.”

“Anna is your…”

“Sister,” Castiel says. “She travels a lot.”

Dean nods. “Noted. So, aside from your conspiracy theory about your sister’s boyfriend, you are the only one single in your family—”

“Technically, my father’s a widower,” Castiel says into his glass.

“—only single one during the holidays. I can relate to that,” Dean says. “My little brother has this amazing girlfriend, and Jo—she’s like a sister—she’s also in a relationship with this weird dude, so I always feel like the third wheel these days. And I mean, you know, it’s not bad, it’s just that every time I try to bring one of my dates along it never works out.” He frowns at the ceiling. “Probably because I pick them up from bars and have no actual interest in dating them besides that one night.”

Castiel gives him a curious head-tilt. “How bad can that be?”

“Oh, dude. You have no idea.”

And that’s how Dean ends up telling Castiel everything about his family’s disastrous meeting with Starla. Encouraged by the way Castiel laughs, he even tells him about the purple nurples and maybe he admits he had a couple of those, too. 

Castiel thinks the whole thing is hilarious. He asks Dean several times if the girl’s name was really Starla, and yes, Dean swears to God, that’s what she said when they met. And she’s not even the weirdest girl he’s ever dated—Lydia and her weird fixation with having a baby after they slept together once will always be number one on that list—just the worst one he took back home. 

He voices that thought and just one look from Castiel has him snorting into his drink. “What? You think I’d take Lydia back home? Chick was crazy.” He makes a circular gesture by his temple, and that makes Castiel burst into laughter again.

“You have weird criteria for who is an acceptable date to take back home and who isn’t,” he says, a gummy smile practically glued to his face by this point—objectively, a very nice smile. 

“Oh come on, don’t say that!”

Castiel leans towards Dean, wiggling his finger to urge Dean closer, too. It’s almost like Castiel has a very important secret to share, his voice whiskey-smooth and husky when he says, “I have one word for you.” He lets that hang for a moment, looking dead-serious. Then: “Purple Nurples.”

And he bursts out laughing, almost nose to nose with Dean but not quite. 

It feels like the most natural thing in the world for Dean to throw his arm around Castiel’s shoulder as he laughs along. “Yeah, okay. You got me there. I have terrible taste.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Castiel slaps him half-heartedly against the chest, and he sways dangerously with the motion, so Dean tightens his hold. “You’re just… You don’t like commitment.”

“I don’t,” Dean agrees. “I don’t have time for it either.”

Castiel is warm and solid at Dean’s side, and he gives up any pretension of being sober to drop his head on Dean’s shoulder instead. “And that’s fine. One night stands are normal. Being single is also normal. Why can’t my dad understand that?”

“Why can’t one of my one-night stands be someone my family will be glad to meet? Someone normal?” Dean asks with a heavy sigh into Castiel’s hark hair. “Someone with an actual job and table manners.”

“Maybe because people with table manners don’t meet the families of their one night stands,” Castiel points out, and yeah, okay, Dean agrees that was probably a red flag. 

“Or maybe they’re just not single.”

Castiel turns his face to frown up at him. “I’m single. And I’ll have you know I have excellent table manners.”

“Obviously you’re the exception.”

“And I’m a doctor,” Castiel goes on, not even trying to pretend he doesn’t need Dean’s help to stay upright. With the amount of alcohol in his blood it’s a miracle he hasn’t fallen asleep yet, but he’s getting there. “I’d make a good impression on your family.”

“That’s true,” Dean says. Pause. Wait! Lightbulb moment. Castiel would totally make a good impression on his family. “Cas, that’s it!”

Castiel is jostled awake, and he pulls away from Dean to collapse over the bar instead. “Huh?”

“You’re a freaking genius!” Dean says, practically yells, making several heads turn to stare at him. 

As if that’s his cue, Benny appears to grab their glasses, prying Castiel’s with difficulty out of his stubborn fingers, and replaces them with water instead. Now that’s what Dean calls a real friend. But that’s not important currently, because Dean’s semi-drunk, and semi-drunk him has the best ideas. 

And he just had the best idea of all the best ideas.

“Cas, you are going to be my date for the holidays. You’re going to be my holidate!”

Castiel blinks at him, face unreadable. “How much did you have to drink?”

“No, I’m not drunk!” Dean says. Not strictly a lie, because maybe he’s loose and warm and the world has started going fuzzy around the edges, but he still has absolute control of himself and his thoughts. “See, you need someone you can take back home to get your dad off your back, and I need someone to keep me company with all the sickeningly sweet couples in my family without embarrassing me.” He gestures furiously between them. “Do you see what I mean?”

“You mean that we should lie?”

Dean pushes a finger over Castiel’s lips—kind of chapped but plush and pink and pretty—to shush him. “I mean that we should give them what they want. Which is us in a happy loving relationship, which requires zero commitment and time outside of family dinners.”

“That…” Castiel shakes his head. “That, weirdly, makes sense.”

“I told you, it’s genius.”

“It is!” Castiel agrees, springing up flush-faced and wide-eyed. “It’s the perfect solution.”

There’s adrenaline rushing through Dean, hot and fizzling and maybe spiked with too much whiskey. It propels him out of his seat, swaying forward and too close to Castiel, who’s an inch or two shorter and has to raise his chin a bit to look Dean in the eye. 

Dean drops down on one knee, and it’s like the whole room holds its breath.

With an insuppressible grin, Dean takes Castiel’s hand in his own and asks, “Cas, will you be my holidate?”

From the corner of his eyes, he sees Benny facepalm, but he doesn’t care. Not when Castiel whispers: “Yes!”


	2. New Year's Eve

“Okay, remember: Michael’s wife is Hannah, and their children are James and Amelia, named after my parents. Anna is the one with the red hair. Gabriel is the short one who got engaged right before Christmas. His fiance, Kali, is thirteen weeks pregnant and the biggest surprise Gabe has ever pulled.” The words leave Castiel in one exhale, no pause, hissed as he tries to fix Dean’s tie and fails miserably.

A gentle touch to the hand that’s still battling with the tie. Dean makes him pause. “Hey, Cas. Relax. I got this. I did my homework, okay?”

Castiel huffs. Without something to fiddle with, his hands feel sweaty and awkward so he sticks them into his pockets. 

Dean raises an eyebrow and straightens the tie Castiel somehow managed to ruin in less than two seconds. “We’ve got a plan, remember? Go in, greet your folks, be nauseatingly adorable together, then leave around eleven to go do the same thing with my folks. Okay?”

“Okay,” Castiel tells the few inches between them.

Dean seems unimpressed. He takes one more step closer, a breath of air barely left between them, and reaches up to fix Castiel’s tie this time, pulling and loosening, then working with deft fingers to create the perfect tie. He catches Castiel’s gaze and holds it. “Can you do this?”

“I can.”

“How about you say that with a little more enthusiasm?”

Castiel rolls his shoulders back and puffs out his chest. “I can do this!”

His tie is ready now, but Dean’s hands linger on him, warm and reassuring just like his smile. “That’s my boy. Now let’s get in there and charm the pants off your father.”

Castiel blocks Dean’s way with his arm. “Please don’t make my father take off his pants.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “It was a joke. Now come on. We’re gonna be late.”

Castiel takes a deep breath. Holds it. Feels Dean’s body heat radiating from his side. Exhales. He can do this.

Key in the lock, turn, push the door open, and they’re inside. Anna, leaning against the living room door jamb, has already spotted them. There’s no going back now, it’s too late. 

“Cassie!” Anna exclaims, and Castiel sees Dean mouthing the nickname with a frown in his peripheral vision; he ignores it. “Come in! You’re the last one to arrive. Dad was beginning to worry.” Her eyes flicker to Dean, to Castiel with a clear question, then back to Dean. “Hello, I’m Anna.”

“Dean Winchester,” Dean says, taking her hand, perfectly polite and handsome. 

“You’re a friend of Cassie’s?” she asks.

“I’m—”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Castiel cuts him off, fast like taking off a band-aid. The room feels too stuffy and warm, or is that just his cheeks? He clears his throat and repeats, slowly this time, “Anna, this is Dean, my boyfriend. Dean, this is my sister, Anna.”

Dean grins. “A pleasure.”

“S—same,” Anna manages to say, blinking rapidly. “Please come inside. Let me get your jacket. The others are in the living room.”

 _Where did you find him?_ she mouths at Castiel behind Dean’s back, her eyebrows doing a weird wiggling dance the meaning of which is lost on Castiel.

He shrugs and follows Dean, who is already meeting the rest of the family. Their reactions vary from surprise (Michael), to some very suggestive gesturing behind Dean’s ass (Gabriel), to a misty-eyed, shaky handshake (Jimmy). One would think it’s Dean who’s pregnant and not Kali with the way Jimmy’s acting. 

Kali hides her snort behind a glass of orange juice when Castiel leans in to whisper that thought in her ear. This is only the second time he’s met her (Gabriel dropped a bomb on them when he brought her over on Christmas Eve, not only because she’s pregnant, but also because none of them knew Gabriel even had a girlfriend) but he likes her already. She fits easily into their family, and seems to temper Gabe’s wild side. A good match, he thinks.

Michael’s kids spend half an hour pretending Dean doesn’t exist until Dean tells them a funny story that instantaneously sends him to the spot of number one uncle (because he’s already Uncle Dean, no matter how many times Hannah tries to correct them). Castiel doesn’t let it get to him. They’re young and easily excitable, and besides, he can always bribe his way into the top with candy. 

“So, Dean,” Jimmy says when they’re finally at the table. “What do you do for a living?”

“Oh, I’m a firefighter,” Dean says, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth as he swallows—good table manners: check. “I also work part-time for my aunt, and sometimes I help my uncle at his garage, but that’s mostly for fun.”

“A doctor and a firefighter,” Gabe says to Castiel with an exaggerated wink. “Kinky.”

“That’s an honorable job, Dean,” Jimmy says, ignoring his son, who’s busy avoiding his fiancée’s glare. 

“Your schedule must be hard, though,” Kali points out.

“I have a lot of night shifts, and sometimes I’m called in even when I’m not working for emergencies, but I love my job. Wouldn’t change it for anything,” Dean says, glancing at Castiel.

Michael looks between them. “So one work-aholic met another work-aholic and you just...clicked.”

“Pot and kettle,” Hannah agrees with him, giving Castiel a warm smile. 

“Our schedules do make it harder to meet,” Castiel says, feeling like he should be contributing more to this conversation.

“But we make it work,” Dean adds and covers Castiel’s hand with his own, giving a soft squeeze and making Castiel’s stomach do a surprised somersault. 

He shouldn’t be surprised, though. They are supposed to be a couple. Couples touch all the time. Castiel really needs to keep up, because Dean’s pulling both their weights here. 

Turning his hand palm up, he threads their fingers together and locks eyes with Dean. “It’s worth it.”

From the opposite side of the table, Anna and Gabe start cooing like the five-year-olds they still are at heart, but a brilliant smile splits Dean’s face, green eyes turning soft and warm, and it’s hard to care about all the teasing Castiel will surely endure. 

Dean is the one to break their eye contact, half turning away to answer one of Kali’s questions, but he doesn’t let go, his hand a reassuring weight in Castiel’s.

Castiel blinks. Damn, they’re really good at this. So good, as a matter of fact, that four hours pass in the blink of an eye, and before Castiel knows it, he’s being led to the front door, his jacket pushed into his arms, and he’s saying goodbye to his family.

“Are you guys sure you’re not sticking around for the countdown?” Michael asks. 

“Thank you, but we’ve already promised to meet up with Dean’s family for the countdown,” Castiel says, saving Dean from the trouble of explaining. 

This is his family, after all, it’s Cas that has to do the ‘business’ talk, as Dean had called it while they were hashing out the details of their plan. Waking up on a pull-out couch of a bar with a man he could barely remember from last night was not his ideal way of starting Christmas morning, but everything worked out in the end. More than worked out, he thinks as he hugs Jimmy goodbye and gets an “I’m so happy for you,” whispered into his ear.

Part one of their plan ends in an undisputed success. Dean says so himself once they’re in his car, a ‘67 Chevy Impala he inherited from his father, which smells like old leather and oil and is Dean’s most prized possession. Time for part two.

* * *

Part two takes them to an apartment building a few blocks away from the river. This should be Charlie’s house, Castiel thinks, remembering Dean’s debrief on his family. Parents dead. He and his younger brother, Sam, were brought up by Bobby and Ellen, family friends and honorary uncle and aunt, along with Ellen’s daughter Jo. Sam is dating Eileen. Jo is dating a guy named Ash. Charlie is Dean’s best friend and co-worker. It’s a house party with several friends since Bobby and Ellen are spending a few days visiting a friend. 

This should be easy compared to a family dinner where all the attention was on them, Castiel thinks, as Dean leads him to an apartment on the second floor. 

“You made it!” a very bubbly red-head shrieks, throwing the door open before Dean’s finger has left the doorbell. She throws herself into Dean’s arms, a surprised ‘oof’ escaping him despite moving instantly to return the hug.

“I promised, didn’t I?” he laughs. “Now come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Cas, right?” Charlie—she looks a lot like the pictures Dean showed Castiel before they came here—turns to Castiel with bright eyes and too much energy. “I’ve heard so much about you, it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

“It’s nice to—oh!” 

Charlie, clearly, is not a handshake person, because she wraps Castiel into a hug equally bone-crushing to the one she’d given Dean. Not knowing what to do, Castiel lets his hands hover around her for a tenth of a second, then pats her awkwardly on the back.

She pulls back and grins. “I thought you’d be shorter.”

“Shorter?” Castiel raises an eyebrow at Dean, who just shrugs and pulls him by the hand inside. 

This is also normal. Couples hold hands all the time. Castiel tries not to blush, but judging by the knowing smirk on Dean’s face he fails. It’s fine, though. This is supposed to be the beginning of their relationship. Being a little flustered is to be expected. 

The place is packed. Castiel hasn’t been to a party with this many people since he was in college and Meg dragged him out every Friday night. Most of them seem to know Dean, but they don’t stop to greet them for longer than a rushed acknowledgment. Castiel even catches sight of the bartender who served them the night he and Dean met, who winks at him and raises his beer in a silent toast while Dean drags Castiel deeper inside the apartment.

“Sammy, Eileen! Hey,” Dean greets, catching sight of someone in the crowd that has taken over Charlie’s apartment. 

Sam Winchester is hard to miss, a good head taller than everyone else, and already waving Dean and Castiel closer. The woman next to him has a beer in hand and dark loose curls falling over her shoulders. This must be Sam’s girlfriend. 

Dean’s hand slips out of Castiel’s to greet his brother with a one-armed hug and a pat on the shoulder, followed by a bigger hug for Eileen. 

“And you must be Cas,” Sam says, offering his hand. 

Castiel shakes it. “I am. Has Dean told everyone about me?”

“We’ve been hearing about you non-stop for the past week!” Eileen tells him, moving closer to greet him and introduce herself. 

“Nice to meet you, too,” Castiel replies, his hands inexperienced and hesitant as he signs the greeting along as Dean taught him.

The small gesture earns him a nod of approval, and Dean puffs up with pride next to him. Table manners are not the only ace up Castiel’s sleeve. Despite his rusty people skills, Castiel has the advantage of already knowing what to do to make Dean’s family happy and which topics to bring up to get Sam talking. 

Which he does. Endlessly. Until Eileen rolls her eyes after fifteen minutes of non-stop debating over animal rights and experimentation and pulls him to the kitchen to grab another beer.

A strong arm sneaks around Castiel’s waist, and Dean pulls him closer, lips right next to his ear, breath hot against his skin. “That was awesome. Sammy almost peed his pants with excitement.”

“Your brother had some interesting arguments,” Castiel replies, willing his heartbeat to slow down. Dean’s very touchy-feely, and sometimes it catches Castiel by surprise. At least with the low lights the heat creeping up his neck should be fairly easy to hide.

The party roars around them, people coming and going, drinking and dancing, pizza boxes being passed around. There’s an empty wall turned into a photo booth, and that’s where Dean drags Castiel. 

“Dean, Cas!” Charlie cries out, spotting them. She is clinging onto a pretty blonde in a tight red dress—that must be Jo—and they are currently posing with silly props of champagne and fake mustaches. 

Dean and Castiel are of course roped into the photoshoot, the four of them pressed together only seconds after Castiel shakes Jo’s hands and introduces himself.

“Where’s Ash?” Dean asks, passing Castiel one of the props Charlie hands out. 

“Passed out in Charlie’s bedroom.” Jo shrugs. It seems Ash being passed out during a party is a regular occurrence. Castiel should ask Dean about it, but then he’s shoved between Dean and Jo and there’s no time to do anything but pose.

“Do a funny one,” Charlie commands.

_Click._

“Flex,” Jo barks.

_Flash!_

“Throw your hands in the air!”

_Click._

“Quickly! Everyone, grab a mustache!”

_Flash._

“Oh, these are great,” Charlie squeals, after their polaroids have developed. She passes two of them to Dean and keeps two for herself, tucking them inside her bra. “Who wants to do shots?”

Castiel hesitates. “I haven’t done shots since… since before med school.”

“Buddy, that’s a long time,” Dean says, his hand on Castiel’s lower back. Neither of the two has had anything more than a beer to drink so far, but Dean is already pink-faced and practically glowing with excitement. 

“It _is_ a party,” Castiel mutters and allows his fake boyfriend to drag him towards the kitchen. 

Shots are just as bad as he remembers them. They’re bitter and burn his throat, and they leave him fuzzy-headed. Soon, Dean’s hands on him are not just for show. Castiel needs the support to make sure he doesn’t stumble into a wall or a door. 

But it’s fun! It’s the most fun Castiel has had in a while, and, judging from the way Dean’s grinning like an idiot the entire time, he’s probably having fun, too. By the time everyone gathers in the living room to watch the countdown on Charlie’s huge TV—for movie marathons, Dean explains, pressed against Castiel—Castiel feels loose-limbed and more than a little drunk. 

“Five,” the people around them count.

“This is awesome, right?” Dean calls over the shouting and the hollering.

“Four!”

“Right!” Castiel grins at him, his arm around Dean’s neck, Dean’s hands on his waist—a good cover and very practical because Castiel sways dangerously every time Dean tries to pull away.

“Three!”

Dean’s eyes search his for a moment. “Midnight is coming up.”

“I know,” Castiel says.

“Two!”

“All in?” he asks, his hold on Castiel tightening ever so slightly.

Castiel has no idea what that means. But he trusts Dean, and the world feels fizzy and bubbly all around him, so he doesn’t much care to figure it out. “All in!” he agrees wholeheartedly.

“One!”

“Happy New Year!” Dean yells along with everyone else, and then he’s right into Castiel’s personal space, their noses bumping together before he adjusts the angle, and they’re kissing.

Dean’s lips are soft and careful where his fingers are confident in holding Castiel close. He still tastes like alcohol and pizza. Caught by surprise, Castiel forgets to close his eyes, and so he has a front-row seat to Dean’s bronze-tipped lashes fanning over his cheekbones, followed by Dean’s eyes fluttering open. 

Dean has really pretty eyes, Castiel thinks over the ringing in his ears. 

With a thunderous roar, the world explodes in cheers around them, and Castiel blinks. Shakes his head. People are hugging and wishing each other a happy New Year in an endless booming cacophony. No one seems to have noticed time stopped for him for a second there. It’s just the alcohol. Yeah, it’s been a while since he last drank this much. Being drunk is a perfectly reasonable explanation for how weak his knees are currently. 

It’s what he tells Dean when he frowns at him. 

_Just the alcoho_ _l_.


	3. Super Bowl

_“Alright,” Dean says, pacing his living room. “New Year’s Eve was awesome, but we have a long road ahead of us.” Because they’ve both agreed that there’s no reason not to continue with their plan since everyone bought it. “Next up we have the Super Bowl!”_

_Castiel gives one of his owlish head-tilts. “The Super Bowl is not a holiday.”_

_“Yes, Cas, it is.”_

_“We don’t celebrate it.”_

_“Well, we do! And we have several traditions, so take notes. Numero Uno: In the Winchester-slash-Singer-slash-Harvelle household we only support one team. The Kansas City Chiefs.”_

_Castiel’s face remains passive. “That name sounds familiar.”_

_Dean raises a warning finger at him. “That name had better become your religion for the next few weeks.”_

* * *

That was two weeks ago. Now Dean watches Castiel adjust the red Chiefs hat Dean lent him and nods to himself. 

“I’m ready,” Cas says, so serious one would believe he’s about to walk into battle and not into his fake boyfriend’s family’s house. 

Then again, Superbowl preparations are more serious than battle preparation around here. At least Cas understands how important this is. 

Two bags of groceries in hand—including Dean’s handmade burger patties, ready to be grilled and served for the ultimate Super Bowl dinner—Dean rings the doorbell. 

* * *

_Rule Number Two: Dean always makes burgers, Ellen always makes her famous spicy chicken wings, Sammy makes a salad (which no one else touches—“That’s very important, Cas, don’t you dare touch that salad”), and Jo and Ash bring the beers. It has to be El Sol, no other beer will do._

_“You have a lot of rules.”_

* * *

“You’re late,” Bobby growls, glancing at the hat on Cas’ head. Something like a smile makes his lips twitch under his beard, and he pulls them both in, sending them to the kitchen to ‘finally get everything ready, the game’s about to begin, idjits.’

“What’s an idjit?” Cas hisses, but then they’re inside the kitchen, where most of the actual preparation for the battle takes place and there’s no time for Dean to explain it to him. 

Cas is a terrible cook; he’d told Dean so while they were hashing out their strategy for the night, so he’s banished to wash the vegetables (Dean shivers) Sam needs for the salad and any plates or knives the cooks no longer use. Dean himself goes straight for his trusty cast iron grill pan. He’s not even sure why Bobby is being bitchy, he and Cas are the first to get here. 

Jo and Ash arrive ten minutes later, and they need two trips back to the car to carry all of the beers they brought, to Castiel’s horror; the hangover after Charlie’s party is still fresh in his memory. Dean’s, too, since he was the one that had to take care of a very grumpy and very dramatic doctor who spent New Year’s Day moaning that he was dying from dehydration. It was the least Dean could do for the dude, since he was kind of the reason Cas got wasted in the first place.

But hey! No holidate left behind and all that. They’re in this together, so they might as well look out for each other. Cas isn’t even that bad of company. He’s surprisingly fun to be around, despite having almost zero pop culture knowledge and looking perpetually confused at everything Dean says. Under other circumstances, Dean and he would make excellent friends. Which is still on the table, it’s just hiding under their fake dating.

Just as the burgers are being served and Ellen tries to find some empty space on their coffee table among the other food and snacks to put them, Sam finally arrives. Sans Eileen, since she had plans with her friends for the night. 

“Nice of you to show up, bitch,” Dean greets his brother with a wink. He passes him by on his way to the living room while effortlessly balancing four plates on his hands, a skill cultivated after several hours of sweat and shifts working at Ellen’s bar, the Roadhouse.

“Ι had to drop Eileen off first, jerk.” Sam doesn’t even deign Dean his usual bitch face. Instead he just goes straight to the kitchen, where he’s greeted by Jo and Ash with enthusiastic yells and cheering. 

When Dean makes it back to the kitchen, he finds Jo and Sam excitedly debating which halftime show is their favorite so far. Dean doesn’t even bother to acknowledge their discussion. The winner is clearly Prince. Plus, Cas looks like he needs to be rescued. Their cramming for tonight didn’t involve halftime shows, and he’s now perched on a chair, trying to keep up with one of Ash’s explanations of what his job actually is. Another thing not included in his debrief, since Dean doesn’t understand what Ash does for a living. He’s pretty sure it has to do with computers and it’s illegal.

“Game’s about to start,” Bobby roars from the other room.

“Coming,” Jo yells and turns to grab Ash. “Come on, Mom said we need more beer glasses.”

“And someone still hasn’t made the salad,” Dean points out, offering Castiel his hand to pull him up. “Ready to do this?” he asks in a lower voice, and Cas nods, despite looking like he’s about to throw up.

“The salad is quick to make,” Sam says, pointedly grabbing a bowl from Ellen’s highest shelf without even reaching up.

“Yeah, because Cas did all the prep for you,” Dean says. “You just have to toss it around a bowl.”

“I brought my homemade vinaigrette.”

“Whatever you say, Samantha, enjoy your vinaigrette while we eat all the real food.”

* * *

_Rule Number Three: Dean and Sam will bitch at each other. It’s tradition. It’s also Sam’s fault for being a 49’ers fan._

_“That seems kind of mean.”_

_“It’s the way it’s supposed to be, Cas. Don’t try and defend his heinous preferences.”_

* * *

“I don’t get it,” Cas whispers. “Neither the Chiefs nor the 49’ers are playing today.”

“Hey, don’t try to make sense of our traditions,” Dean tells him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Cas is solid and broad-chested, and it feels nice to pull him closer. It also makes their romance more believable. Jo’s fake gagging and grin when she sees them proves his ways work. 

“Where will Cas sit?” Ellen asks, already in her usual seat in the armchair closest to the kitchen. 

“Where Eileen usually sits?” Jo suggests. She and Ash always claim the couch with Bobby. Dean sits in the other armchair, while Eileen and Sam have the loveseat. Yes, Dean teases Sam endlessly about it.

“But then he’ll be sitting with Sam,” Ash says, raking his fingers through his hair to try and tame it into a shape that doesn’t resemble a horse’s mane.

“Well, he doesn’t fit in the armchair with Dean.” Jo looks Dean straight in the eye and smirks. “Unless he doesn’t mind sitting on your lap.”

* * *

_Rule Number Four: “We never change our seats. Never. The one time Sam and Jo sat on the floor instead of where Bobby and I specifically asked them to sit, our team lost.”_

_“You know, Dean, at this point all these feel more like superstitions than rules.”_

_“I don’t make the rules, Cas.”_

_“So where will_ I _sit?”_

_Dean grins. “Got that covered already.”_

* * *

“Sammy, come help me,” Dean yells and pats Cas’ shoulder to let him know he’s supposed to wait.

“I’m making the salad!” comes Sam’s answer from the kitchen.

Dean opens his mouth to give him one of his famous one-liners (they’re hilarious, despite what everyone else says), but Jo beats him to the punch. “For the love of God, I’ll come help you. Stop yelling.” 

With an exaggerated eye roll she follows him up the stairs, asking all sorts of inappropriate questions about Cas’ dick which Dean refuses to answer, mostly because he doesn’t _know_ the answer. Soon they manage to manhandle Bobby’s old armchair from Sam’s old room turned second home office. 

Grunting, they place it next to the armchair that belongs to Dean. 

“There,” Dean says satisfied. “We used to use this before we got the loveseat. I don’t see why we can’t use it now for our new guest.”

Ellen and Bobby approve. 

That settled, Dean takes his own seat and passes Cas a beer with a wink. The intro is already playing, and everyone turns to focus on the TV. Between the game and the food, this is the easiest part of the night. No one is paying attention to him and Cas, and they can both sit back, relax, and enjoy the game. In Dean’s case. 

In Cas’ case, it seems the food is the highlight of the night. Not that he can be blamed, Ellen is an amazing cook, and Dean is not bad either, if he says so himself. Cas even sneaks some salad on his plate, but Dean decides to let that one slide. It’ll only make Sam like Cas more, which, when it comes down to it, is their goal. 

When the second quarter is over, the two teams’ scores are close, leaving Bobby vibrating with the hope that their team (not the Chiefs but hey, close enough) might actually win. Then it’s time for the halftime show, and Ellen, never one to pay much attention to such flashy shows, finds the opportunity to drill Cas.

“I have to say, Cas, you’re very different from the last date Dean brought.”—Starla’s name hangs heavy over their heads, no one willing to mention it out loud—“How did someone like Dean even meet someone like you?”

Dean meets Castiel gaze and nods once. They’ve prepared for questions like this, and they’ve both rehearsed their answer. 

Since sticking as close to the truth as possible is their best option, Cas says, “Dean and I met at a bar. It was Christmas Eve, and we were the only two people alone so we kind of hit it off.”

“Was that Benny’s bar?” Jo asks, leaning closer curiously.

“It was actually,” Dean confirms. He narrows his eyes at her. “How do you know?”

“Obviously it wasn’t at the Roadhouse since we were closed that night. Plus Benny texted me you’d be crashing in his backroom that night and that we shouldn’t worry about you.”

Dean has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “As if I was a kid or something.”

A smirk plays at the corner of Ellen’s lips. “Sometimes you act like a kid.”

“More like an idjit,” Bobby grumbles under his beard, and Ash bursts out laughing.

“Oh, burn!” 

He offers Dean a fistbump, which Dean is not going to accept. Sam does accept it, though, with a shit-eating grin that means he’s enjoying himself entirely too much. Maybe Dean should consider sneaking into his apartment to put hair removal cream into his shampoo again. It would serve him right. 

Instead of voicing his thoughts, he crosses his arms over his chest and sinks into his armchair. “It’s not like I was on-duty that night or anything.”

“Yeah, and I guess neither was Cas since you two got wasted,” Jo says, tongue in cheek. At Dean’s accusing glare, she shrugs. “Benny may have shared a few more details about that night other than you claiming his pull-out couch.”

Now that might be a problem, but until Dean can track down Benny and ask him exactly what he told Jo, he’ll fake it till he makes it. Choosing his words carefully—a look in Cas’ direction makes it crystal clear a similar thought is going through his head—he says, “Mind your own business, kid.”

Jo sticks her tongue out at him, her usual response to Dean calling her a kid. But it’s crisis averted, as Ellen decides her next questions will focus on Cas’ work at the hospital. A safe topic that allows Dean to breathe normally again. Their plan is not exposed yet. At least he doesn’t think it is. He does make a mental note to call Benny as soon as possible. 

From there, somehow, and despite Bobby’s very loud protests because the third quarter has already started, Ellen takes it upon herself to guide Cas down the Winchester memory lane. Now, Jo is usually as passionate about football as her adopted father, but even she won’t pass up a chance to tease Dean to no end with all the embarrassing stories of his teenage years. Sam piping in every now and then with his own anecdotes is, of course, a given, but when Ash chimes in with his own story of going out drinking with Dean and ending up naked in a hospital with no recollection of how they got there, Dean feels downright betrayed. 

He makes sure to tell everyone, pretty loudly, too, that at least he woke up in a bed, while Ash woke up in the hospital’s elevator. 

Unruffled by that revelation, Ash points out Bobby and Ellen have found him sleeping in worse places throughout the years. Then he grabs another beer.

Cas, like the god-fucking-sent savior he is, sees the chance to change the topic and grabs onto it with both hands. His own stories of weird and funny patients he’s come across while working as a doctor are entertaining enough that even Bobby takes his eyes off the screen at some point and laughs with a hand over his belly.

Cas grins at Dean, and Dean grins back.

There’s a gold star coming his fake-boyfriend’s way for his effort today. Hell, if Cas really _were_ Dean’s boyfriend, Dean would probably blow him in the car to thank him. But he isn’t. So Dean won’t. 

He’ll just buy the guy dinner the first chance they get. Totally platonically. It’s what every dude would do for his awesome—and kind of cute, Dean thinks, staring at Cas’ gummy smile—holidate.

* * *

_Rule Number Five: “If our team loses, don’t talk to Bobby. Just don’t.”_

_Cas cocks his head to the side. “Why though?”_

_“He needs a couple of hours to grieve. It’s fine. Ellen can handle him.”_

* * *

“Really, Cas, I’m sorry this night didn’t end on a happier note,” Ellen says, walking them to the front door a few hours later. She makes a grimace aimed at where Bobby is still sulking on the couch. “He’s usually not that bad.”

“I think we were all disappointed,” Cas says, a polite, close-lipped smile on his face. “It seemed like we really had a chance, but they kind of destroyed us after halftime.”

“At least it was a fun game to watch.” Dean deliberately raises his voice and strains his neck to stare at Bobby, but all his efforts earn him is a half-hearted, indecipherable mumble. Eh, he’ll try again tomorrow.

Ellen hums in agreement. “You got the leftovers I packed for you?”

Dean raises the bag in his hand. “Enough food to last a week.”

She shakes her head, patting him on the cheek fondly. “We both know it won’t last two days.” Her eyes dart over to Cas then back at Dean and she raises her eyebrows. “Maybe less if you have company.”

“Okay, that’s enough for tonight,” Dean decides and grabs Cas by the elbow to lead him towards the Impala. Over his shoulders he calls, “Bye, Ellen!”

“Be a good host to your guest tonight, Dean,” Ellen answers, a knowing smirk stuck on her face. 

Jo’s head appears over her shoulder to yell, “Don’t forget to use protection!”

“Jo!” Ellen barks but not fast enough to stop herself from snorting. 

God, Dean sometimes hates his family.

“I’m sorry about that,” he tells Cas once they’re inside the car and safely out of earshot.

“Don’t be. I think they’re all lovely,” Cas says. With a playful nudge, he adds, “And I really liked all the stories from when you were young.”

Dean groans and drops his forehead against the wheel. “Christ. I can’t believe they’d embarrass me like that. What if you were my real boyfriend?”

“Then I’d find those stories even more adorable than I did now,” Castiel says without missing a beat and reaches to touch Dean’s bicep and squeeze gently.

His face is so earnest and open it’s almost impossible for Dean to meet his unwavering gaze. Cas doesn’t have any inhibitions about staring, Dean has noticed. All the attention leaves a weird buzzing under his skin, but it’s not unpleasant. Not at all. Just like the warmth of his palm on Dean’s arm is not unpleasant. The opposite actually. The more Cas’ hand lingers on him, the harder it is to ignore the fluttering in Dean’s stomach.

There’s a spark behind the blue of Cas’ eyes, and he leans closer. When he licks his lips, Dean can’t help but follow the motion. Time seems to slow down. Swallowing past his dry throat, Dean can do nothing but sit there and wait.

“And really, Dean,” Cas says, voice low and husky. Private. “You don’t need your family’s help to embarrass you. You’re doing a pretty good job all by yourself.”

Cas’ face twitches, then his serious expression cracks and he bursts out laughing. He pulls back, hand sliding away. 

A breath Dean didn’t know he was holding leaves him in a long sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, nose scrunched with amusement. “But you drunk-propositioned me in front of dozens of strangers. We’re sitting here because we’re fake dating. It’s not like I never expected you to have wild stories from your youth.”

“Right,” Dean says on another exhale. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

He’s not disappointed. Cas just caught him by surprise is all. And it was just an innocent joke. Dean knows jokes. He makes them all the time. 

Still, those couple of seconds when he thought Cas was about to kiss him stay with him long after he’s dropped Cas off at his apartment. 


	4. Valentine's Day

Castiel is at the front door the moment he hears a car stopping in front of Gabriel’s house. The Impala’s engine is loud and unmistakable and right about now, it sounds exactly like a flock of angels appearing through a crack in the sky, harps and everything, to shine their bright light of salvation on him. 

“Thank God, you made it,” he hisses as he throws the door open to let a very ruffled Dean inside. 

“Yeah, sorry it took so long. I had to convince Jo to cover for me at the Roadhouse,” Dean says, trying to smooth his hair back and his clothes down at the same time. “You’re lucky I didn’t have a shift at the department today. I wouldn’t have been able to come.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” Castiel says before frowning at the poor job Dean’s doing at making himself presentable. Well, it’ll have to do, he figures with a sigh. Gabriel’s party is not a black tie event and someone with Dean’s face doesn’t need fancy clothes to look good anyway.

“Hey, I still owe you dinner, so buy me dessert afterwards and we can call it even.”

“Deal,” Castiel says. It’s true that their schedules have been too busy to actually meet up in the past couple of weeks, and despite Castiel’s protests, Dean insists that Cas hanging out at the Roadhouse while Dean is behind the bar doesn’t count as the dinner he owes him. Since dinner is definitely happening at some point, Castiel will feel better if he can pay for something even if it’s just dessert. 

“Cassie, is that your beau?” Gabriel’s voice drifts down the hallway, reminding him of the crisis he’s currently facing—but not alone anymore. 

“Come inside, quickly!” 

Dean allows Castiel to manhandle him down the hallway and towards the living room where Gabriel and his guests are waiting. To his credit, he only raises an eyebrow when he notices all the gaudy, loud, heart-shaped decorations hanging from everything. Castiel had a much worse reaction when he got here.

“Dean-o! I’m glad you could make it after all. I know our invitation was a little last minute, but I promise you, you’ll have a lot of fun,” Gabriel says and drops a glass of pink wine in Dean’s hand. 

Dean barely catches it before it falls to the floor, then gives the room a smile. 

Castiel just huffs at his brother’s antics. In this case, ‘last minute’, unfortunately, was Gabriel calling him and inviting him over for a ‘quiet gathering with some friends to celebrate the baby’ literally an hour before the event. Needless to say, this is the furthest thing from a ‘quiet gathering.’ Castiel doesn’t even recognize most of the people in this room, save for Kali, Anna, and a couple of Gabriel’s closest friends. 

“Why does the room look like a cupid barfed all over it?” Dean asks in a whisper. 

“Because Gabe doesn’t like to do things halfway,” Castiel answers. 

“I can’t believe you two actually came!” Anna appears at their side, a glass of wine in her hand, most of it gone already. She looks less than impressed. “Didn’t either of you have to work?”

Castiel sighs. “Gabe is not above calling the hospital to find out my schedule and organize his party on the one day I can’t use my work as an excuse not to come.”

Dean shrugs. “I only heard about this five minutes ago.”

“And I only did an hour ago,” Castiel says, trying to rub the crease between his eyebrows away. “God, I can’t believe I fell for this.”

Anna bumps their shoulders together, a gesture she knows Castiel _hates_ and one she insists on making anyway. “Oh come on, it’s not so bad. I’m sure Kali is in total control of the situation. Plus, Gabe’s parties are fun.”

“Maybe for you,” Castiel grumbles.

“Hey, we can find an excuse to sneak out early,” Dean tells him, a comforting hand on the small of Castiel’s back. “I can come up with an excuse to leave right now, if you want.”

It’s tempting. Very tempting. But no. “Thank you, Dean, but I got myself into this mess and now I have to see it through.”

“Wow, one would think Gabe asked you to donate your liver, not come and celebrate Valentine’s day with him,” Anna says, eyes shining with mirth.

“I’d rather donate part of my liver to him,” Castiel says flatly. Then he narrows his eyes at her. “What about you? Gabe said this is strictly a couples party when I got here—” _and was forced to call Dean and beg him to come, too_ , he doesn’t say, “—but _your_ boyfriend is still in France last time I checked.”

“Kali’s best friend is also single, so I’m here to be her fake-date for the night,” Anna says.

Castiel bites his tongue, lest he says anything that will give him and Dean away. Thankfully, Kali appears at that moment to greet Dean and tell them all about her last ultrasound—pictures included. 

“Hey, cheer up,” Dean tells Castiel once she and Anna are too deep in their conversation to pay them any mind. “This might actually be fun. I see some nerf guns over there.” He nudges Castiel in the direction he means, and yes, there really is a pile of nerf guns there.

Castiel’s stomach drops to the floor. He’d thought he’d at least avoid this, since Kali is pregnant and Gabe wanted a tamer party. But no. Gabe’s famous party games are happening.

Whatever expression he’s wearing, it’s enough for Dean to understand. “You’re not a fan of party games, are you?”

“No, Castiel says dryly. “I don’t like them. I’m not good at them. I’d rather not participate if I have the choice.”

Dean checks around them. “Well, if you insist on staying, I can take care of the games. I’m pretty good with a gun.”

“That’s a relief,” Castiel says, before his mind catches up to what Dean just said. He does a double take. “Did you just say you’re good with guns?”

Dean shrugs. “I used to go hunting with Bobby and my dad.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. I even used to practice with empty bottles in our backyard.”

The idea of Dean with a gun is weirdly attractive. Castiel never considered himself a guy who got turned on by danger, but here he is, standing in the middle of Gabriel’s living room, feeling hot all over because Dean is good with guns. And if he wasn’t sure what the knotted mess that sits in his chest is, actually seeing Dean holding a (nerf) gun and obliterating everyone else at shooting plastic cups off the table is a dead giveaway. 

At least the party games mean he doesn’t have the time to panic about his new discovery: apparently, he has developed a crush on Dean. A pretty serious crush, if his arrhythmic heartbeat when he and Dean have to pop balloons between their chests is anything to go by. 

But he can’t help it! They have to be so close, and Dean’s hands are so strong when they pull him even closer. They’re almost pressed up against each other, and Castiel can count the faint freckles peppered over Dean’s nose; can pinpoint the moment Dean’s eyes flicker from the balloon straining between them up to meet Castiel’s gaze and his pupils dilate. 

Castiel pulls away with a gasp and the balloon falls noiselessly to the floor.

Dean opens his mouth, clearly about to ask him what’s wrong, but then there’s a _pop!_ and Anna starts cheering next to them. 

“We won!” she calls, high-fiving Billie, Kali’s friend. “That’s one point for us, and that means, we have a tie, Winchester.”

Dean rolls his eyes at her. “We’re only at the second game of the night. Watch me obliterate you through the rest of them.”

Billie, face set with determination, walks up to him, pulling herself to her full height to look Dean dead in the eye. “Bring. It. On.”

Castiel swallows past his dry throat. That means he won’t be getting out of here any time soon then. He’s trapped in this party when he’d rather be in his bed having a panic attack.

* * *

After popping the balloons, there’s Twister, which both Dean and Cas are terrible at, so it’s another win for Anna and Billie. The rest of the teams are competent enough, but nowhere as good—or competitive—as Dean and the girls and by the time they get around to ring tossing, their half-hearted attempts don’t even come near the scores of the two top teams.

Not that Cas is being particularly helpful. The two times he manages to get his ring on a bottle is by chance, not skill, and he feels like he’s holding Dean back. Their score reflects as much. Dean has a better aim than both Anna and Billie, and he goes for the bottles in the back which earn him more points, but he can’t compete against _two_ people when Castiel is helpless.

Castiel tells Dean as much the next time it’s his turn to toss a ring again. 

“Hey, come on. Don’t say that,” Dean says, frowning. 

“I want you to win,” Castiel says. “Which is impossible with me as your partner.”

“Well, I don’t want another partner.”

“We’re going to lose.”

Dean shrugs. “So what? Rubbing our victory in your sister’s face would be awesome, but my number one goal here is for you to have fun.” He brings a hand up to cup Castiel’s face, tender and careful, making Castiel’s heart skip a beat. “My number one priority here is _you_.”

“Quit your flirting, lovebirds,” Gabe roars, sneaking a hand around Castiel’s throat to pull him away from Dean. “The game is still not over, and it’s Cassie’s turn.”

“No reason to avoid the inevitable,” Anna comments.

“Give your brother a chance,” Kali says. “He might yet surprise you.”

“I doubt it.”

Dean scowls at her and pries Castiel out of Gabe’s arms. “Give us five minutes.”

Without another explanation, he drags Castiel to the kitchen, where he props a champagne bottle on a counter, makes Castiel stand a few feet away from it, and hands him a ring. 

“Okay, we don’t have much time, so I’ll try and impart upon you years of training in a matter of a few minutes.”

Castiel cocks his head to the side. “That’s literally impossible, Dean.”

“Nothing’s impossible. Come here.”

Dean pulls Castiel in front of him, his chest solid and broad against Castiel’s back, breath hot down the back of his neck. Castiel fights against a shiver. 

“Alright, hold it like this now.” 

Arm wrapped around Castiel, he takes Castiel’s hand into his and fixes his fingers, then shows him how to flick his wrist before tossing the ring. They practice the move a couple of times, pressed together back to chest, Castiel’s body temperature rising with every passing second and with every shift of hard muscle he can feel behind him. 

_This is torture,_ he thinks even as Dean keeps murmuring advice low into his ear. His pants already feel a little tighter. 

After a lecture Castiel hears only half of, Dean steps back and instructs Castiel to try on his own. He watches as Castiel tries a couple of times, comes back to adjust his stance, and waves at him to try again. A dozen or so tries later—and after he got three out of five in his last set—Dean nods satisfied.

“It won’t be as easy out there, but aim for the bottles in the front and we should be golden.”

Castiel nods solemnly. Despite Dean’s best efforts, or maybe _because_ of them and their private lesson, he feels stretched thin and about to snap. Dean’s hand on the small of his back as he leads him back where everyone is waiting for them both helps settle his nerves and makes it worse.

He tries his best, though. He stands like Dean showed him, tries to control his breathing and aims for the bottles at the front. Like Dean told him, it’s harder with everyone watching. Even harder because of Gabe’s not-so-witty commentary. 

They end up losing this game, anyway, but not by much. They only need five more points to win this, and there’s still one more game left. Knowing Gabe, it’s going to be something equally ridiculous as the previous games. Maybe pin the arrow on the cupid or something. God, he sucks at games. 

“Time for the last game of the evening,” Kali calls, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. She gestures for them to take a seat. “I hope you’re having as much fun as we are. I know our games have been pretty exciting so far, especially for our two top teams.”

Anna and Billie clap, while Dean cheers. 

“We thought we’d end our party with something more relaxed,” Gabe says. He pulls a stack of cards from his pocket and holds it up. “A Valentine’s day themed quiz!”

Castiel smiles when everyone else groans. Maybe his hand-eye coordination is not as good as Dean’s, but he’s basically a bottomless well of random fun facts and history tidbits. For the first time since he got to Gabe’s house, Dean will have to rely on him to earn them their win.

* * *

“When did St. Valentine live?” Gabe asks and pushes the button on his timer. 

The sound of pens on papers scatters through the room for the minute they are allowed to think about their answer before Gabe asks them all to reveal their answers. 

Castiel strains his neck to check what the other teams have written. He’s 100% about his answer, but a couple of others have the correct answer, too, Anna and Billie included. 

“The answer iiiiiis—” Gabriel mimics drum sounds, and Castiel rolls his eyes. “Third century!”

Kali dutifully adds the points to the teams that got it right on a marker board. 

“This was an easy one,” Castiel whispers to Dean. 

“Next question: Which festival was the precursor of Valentine’s Day?”

Ah, this is not as well known. But Cas does have the answer for it. 

“Time!” Gabriel calls. “Let’s see your answer.”

Castiel turns his paper to show his answer. _Lupercalia._

“Celebrated by the Romans,” he tells Dean who is frowning at the unfamiliar word.

Castiel gets a point for their team, and earns himself a one-armed hug from Dean as well when no one else answers this one right. He knows most of the questions, even gets a couple right by chance, and when they reach the last question for the night, his team and Anna’s are tied for the win.

His sister grins, though Castiel can read the nervousness in the tightness of her shoulders. “Ready to get your ass handed to you?”

“We'll see about that.”

“Nothing like a good old sibling rivalry,” Gabe comments. “Now, last question: Who sent the first Valentine?”

“Oh damn, this is a difficult one,” Dean groans. 

“It is, but I know it,” Castiel says, stealing a glance at Anna and Billie. They have their heads close together, discussing their answer in hushed voices. Castiel’s stomach twists uncomfortably. Either you know the answer or you don’t, there’s nothing to discuss, which means one of the two must think they know it and is not sure about it. 

He crosses his fingers they don’t know it, conscious of the way Dean leans closer to read their answer over his shoulder. 

“Who’s that?”

“A guy who spent twenty years in prison,” Castiel answers underlining the words _Charles, Duke of Orleans._

“Very romantic. Not creepy at all,” Dean comments. 

Castiel hums. “His poem _was_ romantic.”

“Time’s up! Let’s see your answer everyone.”

Paper clutched to his chest, Castiel watches as several couples show their blank papers. Some have tried, but their guesses are wrong. He turns to see the paper Billie holds up: _St. Valentine of Rome._

Oh, damn. He almost feels sorry for them. 

Biting down a smile, he shows Gabe his answer. 

“Cassie is correct,” Gabe roars. “Dean and Castiel manage to grab the win right out of Anna and Billie’s hands.”

"We did it!” Dean yells, almost tacking Castiel to the ground with the force he throws himself at him for the celebratory win. 

“Down, boy,” Gabriel jokes, only for Dean to flip him the bird. “Hey, not in front of my baby. Cassie, control your boy toy.” He covers Kali’s belly with a protective hand, though he can barely hold back an amused grin. 

“Sorry, Gabe. I don’t think I can,” Castiel says, still half-buried under 180 pounds of excited Dean Winchester. His heart threatens to flutter right out of his ribcage, and it’s hard not to return Dean’s excited grin when he turns to look at him. 

* * *

Dean grins when they are back at the car getting ready to leave. “I can’t believe you knew that Charles guy.”

“Growing up in a religious family and having a soft spot for history helped,” Castiel says. He’s been smiling for so long that his cheeks hurt. It happens a lot to him lately. Since he met Dean at least.

“Anna grew up in the same family and she’d never heard of the dude.”

“Anna and Gabe were always the rebels in our family.”

Dean nods his head to the side as if to say that’s true enough. “You said the dude wrote a poem?”

“The dude?”

“Charles.”

“Oh, yes.” Castiel takes a deep breath. It’s been a while since he last read it, but the words come to him all the same when he digs around his brain for them. 

“My very gentle Valentine,  
since for me you were born too soon,  
And I for you was born too late. 

God forgives him who has estranged  
Me from you for the whole year. 

I am already sick of love,  
My very gentle Valentine.”

“It is very romantic,” Dean says after a beat. 

“Yes, though you were right, it’s creepy, too. His wife was eleven when they got married.”

Dean almost drives the car off the road. “Dude, no!”

Castiel shrugs. “The times were different.”

“That doesn’t make it any better! She was just a child! Jesus.” Dean gives a whole body shiver, and Castiel has to bite down a smile. He expected that kind of reaction from Dean. It’s why he didn’t share the whole story back at the party. 

There’s a stretch of silence, filled only by Dean’s favorite classic rock songs turned on low. It’s a nice, quiet moment.

At last, Dean says, “Did I ace my assignment? Did you have fun?”

“I did,” Castiel admits reluctantly. “The party could have been worse.”

“If I weren’t there.”

“It would have been terrible if you weren’t there,” Castiel says without missing a beat. He means it whole-heartedly, too. “Thank you for coming. It wasn’t right for me to ask you to ditch your work last minute.”

“Eh, it’s fine,” Dean says. “You would have done the same. Besides, you won us a bottle of champagne.” He nods with his head at the bottle of pink champagne resting at Castiel’s feet.

“I hardly helped,” Castiel argues.

“Don’t sell yourself short. You won us champagne, and now we’re going to celebrate by ordering food and getting drunk on some expensive, fizzy alcohol. Just the two of us this time. How does that sound?”

He winks, sending Castiel’s stomach to drop straight through the chair.

“It sounds…” He doesn’t say _‘like a date.’_ “It sounds fun.”

Oh, Castiel has it bad.


	5. Easter

When Dean arrives at Jimmy’s house for the annual Easter brunch, Jimmy goes all glassy-eyed and jaw-hanging like he always does when Dean is so much as mentioned. Castiel suspects his father still can’t believe Castiel has a boyfriend. Which, Jimmy is right to think that, because Castiel is lying to his whole family, but the point is, he’s not a hermit! Just because he’s going through a dry spell currently, doesn’t mean he won’t eventually find someone to date. 

And until then he has Dean. 

“Happy Easter,” Dean says, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on Cas’ cheek after Jimmy has released him to go back inside and continue preparations. He nods at the explosion of pastels that have swallowed up Jimmy’s backyard. “You guys go all out for Easter, huh?”

“It’s a big celebration for Christianity, Dean,” Cas explains, ignoring the way his skin is still burning where Dean touched him. “And the kids love it.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think all those porcelain bunnies are a little much?”

Said bunnies, all dressed in colorful shirts and holding eggs and flowers, take up most of the back porch and the stairs down to the garden, leaving only a narrow path between them. Hannah is currently trying to go down that path in her kitten heels and green cocktail dress without dropping the tray with their drinks. 

Castiel shrugs, and moves to help her. “Dad likes them,” he tells Dean, and smiles back at Hannah, who thanks him for his help and disappears back inside the house. 

“Here, gimme that.” Dean drops the basket full of chocolate he brought to the nearest chair and starts placing glasses of mimosas on the table so that the tray can be sent back inside and refilled with something else. He doesn’t even comment on the mimosas, which Castiel was expecting. He guesses when your whole house looks like the Easter Bunny barfed all over it, the mimosas don’t stand out as much. 

“You guys go egg hunting, too?” Dean asks.

“James and Amelia do. I helped Dad hide a dozen or so eggs among his bushes before mass this morning. The kids can go search for them after our brunch.”

“That’s cute.”

Castiel shrugs. “It’s tradition. I think Dad was sad when my siblings and I were too old for egg hunting, but he’s taken to Easter with new found energy since James and Amelia were born.”

“Ah, does that have anything to do with his obsession to marry off the rest of his children?”

Castiel cocks his head to the side. That hadn’t occurred to him before. “I don’t know. Maybe? Dad always was happiest when the house was full, and with all of us living on our own I guess it’s been hard for him. Especially ever since my mother passed. But he has two grandkids now and another one on the way.”

Shrieking and screaming starts from inside the house, before the door bangs open and James and Amelia come spilling out, Michael at their heels. 

“No egg hunting until after we’re done eating,” he calls after them. Judging from the shake of his head, even he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. 

“Mikey, come help us set up the table,” Dean tells him, beckoning him over. 

“The table looks perfect to me,” Michael says, though he does cross to them, hands in his pockets. “Cassie, you even got Dad’s fancy tablecloth.”

“If I’d done otherwise I’d be grounded,” Castiel jokes. “I swear, Anna knew what she was doing when she decided to spend the holidays in France with her boyfriend.”

“Nothing like a chateau and endless cheese to celebrate Easter, right?” Michael adds. 

Jimmy appears at that moment to place a mountain of waffles on the table. “But does she have my famous pancakes? I don’t think so. Hannah is almost done with them, and I’ll bring the eggs out soon. I think we’re ready to eat. Oh, Gabe’s still not here? I’ll call him to see where he is.” 

Dean squints at Jimmy’s retreating back. “That’s a lot of food.”

“Welcome to the family,” Michael says, raising a mimosa in a toast.

“Dean’s family also has a tradition of cooking too much food,” Castiel says. There’s the, now familiar, tightness in his chest that comes with anyone mentioning his and Dean’s fake relationship, and he stomps it down stubbornly. There’s no room for feelings, real feelings, in this arrangement. Just because he and Dean had dinner together a few times and they get drinks a couple of times every week, it doesn’t mean that there’s anything more to their arrangement. 

Taking a sip from his cocktail, Michael points a finger at Dean. “Your aunt owns the Roadhouse, right, Dean? Best burgers I’ve ever tried.” 

Dean grins, all teeth and charm. “I’ll pass her your compliments.” He winks and adds, “The recipe is a family secret.”

Michael seems amused. “We’re kind of family now, no?”

“Alright, let’s just all sit down.” Castiel cuts them both off. Enough with this talk. He’s only human after all, and there’s only so much he can take. He can also hear the commotion that usually means Gabe’s arrived. At least he can count on the rest of his family to steer the conversation to safer topics. 

* * *

“So, Dean,” Jimmy says, two mimosas and a stack of pancakes later. “You know we love having you around, right? You and Cassie are so good for each other.”

Castiel’s eyes twitch with how hard he fights not to roll them. So much for hoping that his “relationship” wouldn’t be the topic of the day. There’s a pregnant woman sitting right next to him for God’s sake. Why can’t they focus on her, instead of cooing at him—literally, in Gabe’s case.

Dean, charming, wonderful, socially-skilled Dean, takes that statement in a stride. He grabs Castiel’s hand on the table and squeezes. “Thank you, Jimmy. You know I’m grateful for your hospitality, right? And I’m more than grateful for Cas. I still can’t believe I’m dating someone so out of my league.”

Castiel narrows his eyes, trying to convey to his fake-boyfriend that he’s overselling this. All he gets in answer is a quick peck on the back of his hand and a wink from Dean. And more cooing. Dammit.

“I was thinking—actually, I discussed it with Michael a couple of weeks ago, and he said no, but—”

“Dad, please don’t,” Michael says, visibly trying to stop whatever disaster is about to come out of their father’s mouth, but there’s no stopping Jimmy when he gets something on his mind. Castiel knows that as well as Michael, and a heavy sense of foreboding settles over him. “But I thought I’d throw the idea out there for next time anyway,” Jimmy continues unfazed. “I think it’s time that we met your family, don’t you think?”

Castiel’s breath hitches, at the same time Dean stiffens next to him. 

To his credit, Dean fights to keep his smile on. And fails. “Excuse me?”

Oh good. At least, for once, he sounds as overwhelmed as Castiel feels. 

“Dad, that’s so—” Castiel opens and closes his mouth repeatedly. Words fail him. “Dad, no!”

“Dad, I thought we agreed that’s not an appropriate topic to bring up during Easter brunch,” Michael says. 

The rest of the table has gone deathly silent, though Castiel is painfully aware of all the sets of eyes watching him. 

“And why not?” Jimmy huffs. “They’ve been dating for four months now. I’m not saying they’re ready for marriage—”

 _Oh, dear God, if you exist, please strike me with lightning and kill me right now,_ Castiel prays silently.

It goes unheard. The day remains bright and sunny, without so much as a hint of clouds in the sky. 

Jimmy goes on. “But I think just a family dinner is fine. It doesn’t even have to be here, we can go out.”

Dean’s eyes are wide enough to fall out of their sockets by now. He hasn’t spoken since Jimmy blurted out that disastrous plan of his, and really, Castiel knows it’s not Dean’s place to speak at all. It’s _his_ and he better nip this in the bud, before Jimmy does something horrifying like go behind their backs to meet Ellen and Bobby. Jimmy knows Ellen owns the Roadhouse, it wouldn’t even be hard for him. 

“Dad, no,” Castiel says firmly, muscles quivering with the effort it takes to contain his rage. 

“Why not, Cassie? I promise not to embarrass you.”

“Dad, you already are,” Castiel tells him. “And you’re making Dean uncomfortable, you’re making everyone uncomfortable. Please, drop this subject and never mention it again.”

“But I—”

A phone rings, cutting Jimmy off, and all the attention slides off Castiel and onto Dean, who looks sheepish.

“Um, it’s work, so I have to take this. Excuse me.”

Castiel’s jaw is tight enough to hurt as he watches Dean walk away to take the call. He grinds his teeth. Clenches and unclenches his fist on the table, already missing Dean’s comforting touch. 

“It was just an idea,” Jimmy grumbles at his empty plate. 

“Kali, why don’t you and I help the kids with their egg hunt?” Hannah asks, voice strained but trying to be light. 

Kali, never one to be subtle, throws her napkin and nods. “Anything to get me away from this table.” 

The two of them take James and Amelia by the hand and move to the opposite side of the garden from where Dean is. That leaves just Jimmy and his sons to endure the heavy, tension-filled silence. Well, Castiel has no desire to break it. Mostly because if he opens his mouth right now, he can’t trust himself not to say something that he’ll regret later. Since Gabriel’s eyes are pinned on the table, too, Michael takes it upon himself to give their father a hushed lecture about boundaries. 

“Hey,” Dean calls, coming back to squeeze Castiel’s shoulder. “Sorry, but there’s been an emergency, and I have to go.”

Castiel’s heart sinks. “You do?”

“Yeah, it’s a big fire across town, all hands on deck. I need to be there ASAP.”

“Let me at least walk you out,” Castiel says, and leads the way as fast as he can. He doesn’t even give his family the opportunity to say goodbye. They’ve done enough for today. Once out of earshot, he stops short, causing Dean to almost trip. “Dean, I’m sorry. I don’t know how he got that idea in his head. You must have been so uncomfortable—”

“Cas, dude—”

“—and I understand if you’re freaked out. I guess now you know why we don’t bring dates around unless we’re one step away from marriage in this family—”

“Yeah, I get that, but I—”

“I want you to know, it’s fine that you came up with a fake emergency to—”

“No, Cas, stop.” Dean forces a hand over Castiel’s mouth, effectively shushing him. “It’s not a fake emergency. I really need to go. There really is a fire.”

Castiel’s spine pulls straight. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, really. And the others need me.” 

“But you don’t have your equipment with you,” Castiel says, following Dean through the house to the front door. “Are you going to be okay? Isn’t this dangerous?”

“Cas, I’m trained for this. There’s always a risk when we’re called for a fire this big, but we know what we’re doing, okay? You don’t have to worry about me.”

They’re out the door now, and Dean’s running down the stairs to get to his car, leaving Castiel with a rock where his stomach used to be and bile rising up his throat. Saying there’s nothing to worry about is one thing, but actually not worrying about it is completely different. 

“Will you text me when you get home?” he calls, and Dean gives him a thumbs up before sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the car. And then he’s gone. 

Castiel wraps his arms around himself and tries to rub some warmth back into his muscles. It’s not a chilly day, but he feels cold inside. He suspects he won’t feel better until much later when he knows Dean is back home and safe. 

* * *

“That was convenient,” Gabriel comments later. He and Castiel are in charge of washing the dishes while the others enjoy the weather and the Easter decorations outside. Gabe never offers to wash the dishes, so offering to do it today was probably a strategic choice to get Castiel alone. 

“That emergency phone call,” Gabriel clarifies.

Castiel sighs. He can feel the weight of Gabriel’s stare on the side of his face. “It was a real emergency. Dean’s really putting out a fire as we speak.” Castiel even checked the local news sites. As of five minutes ago, the firefighters were still fighting with the flames, trying to stop the fire from spreading to neighboring houses. 

From the corner of his eye, he sees Gabriel nod from side to side, considering what Castiel just told him. “Okay, but it’s still very convenient. I was worried Dad scared him away for real.”

“ _You_ were scared?” Castiel scoffs. 

“Hey, I happen to like Dean-o,” Gabriel says, slapping Castiel’s shoulder with the towel he uses to dry the plates. “And Dad’s right, you two are a good match. I’d hate to see you two break up because our family is a bunch of weirdos.”

“I didn’t think it was going to be this bad.”

“It’s always this bad. Why do you think Anna is dating a French guy? That girl got all the brains in the family, don’t let Michael convince you otherwise.”

That Castiel can’t argue with. 

“Can I be honest?” Gabriel asks, and Castiel shrugs since he doubts he really has a choice in the matter. “I was worried the first time you brought Dean over for dinner. It… it was too soon for you. You guys were dating for what, a couple of weeks back then? And you’re not like that. You’re like me, waiting ‘til the very last possible moment to bring your boyfriend home to meet the family, so I was worried. But getting to know Dean and seeing you two together, I get it. When you know you know. And you two are obviously head over heels for each other.”

The words are sharp and painful and hit the exact spot between Castiel’s ribs that has been a gaping hole since Valentine’s Day. And Castiel’s tired. Exhausted. He’s been lying to everyone for so long already. Lying to himself even.

At this moment, he can’t bear to lie to his brother anymore. 

“It’s not real,” he mutters, low and broken. So low that Gabriel doesn’t listen the first time, so Castiel has to repeat it, loud and clear. “It’s not real.”

The words hang between them, finally out in the open, the weight off Castiel’s shoulder, at least for now. 

Gabriel shakes his head, mouth hanging open. “I don’t understand. What’s not real?”

“Me and Dean. We’re not really dating. We just thought… I don’t know what we were thinking, but at the time it seemed like a good idea to pretend to be each other’s boyfriends for the holidays so Dad would get off my back about not dating and Dean wouldn’t be the only single one in his family. Dean calls it a holidate.”

Gabriel is speechless. For several seconds he just blinks at Castiel, lips working around words that never make it past his lips. At last, he bursts out laughing. “A holidate, really? Oh, that’s genius, how didn’t I think of that? See, I knew there was a reason I like Dean. A holidate!”

“Hey, keep it quiet! Someone might hear you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But come on, this is big news. You guys should get that copyrighted.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. He doesn’t know why he expected Gabriel to act like an adult. He should have waited until Anna came back and told her instead. “I’m glad you find the mess I’m in hilarious.”

“A mess?” Gabriel asks. “How is this a mess? It sounds like a very convenient situation from where I stand.”

“Because,” Castiel says, eyes downcast. He swallows. No more lies, right? “Because I think I like Dean. I _like_ like him. And spending time with him, holding his hand, flirting all the time, it’s not easy for me.”

“Sorry, to burst your bubble, bro, but your feelings are not exactly subtle,” Gabriel says. “Anyone with eyes can tell you have feelings for him, which is why your fake-dating thing hasn't been exposed yet. But here’s a thought: why not date him for real?”

Castiel shakes his head stubbornly. “No, Dean doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“Did you ask him?”

“I don’t have to. I know he doesn’t because it’s obvious. He’s even been on a couple of dates with other people, so…”

“Wait, he told you that?”

“He did. One of the times I went to the Roadhouse to have a drink while he worked behind the bar.”

Gabriel curses under his breath. “That asshole,” he says and points a finger at Castiel’s direction to add, “You know he’s the one missing out, right? You’re a catch.”

“Thanks, Gabe,” Castiel answers, slightly amused. “That means a lot coming from my older brother.”

“It’s an objective opinion. We’re a good looking family.”

“I don’t think it has to do with my looks,” Castiel offers.

“That still doesn’t mean he’s not a blind idiot. Do you want me to egg his car? Because I can egg his car for you.”

“Thank you, Gabe, but I don’t need you to fight for my honor. I’m an adult, I can handle this.”

“You sure?”

“A hundred percent,” Castiel says firmly. And surprisingly, he even means it. The burden doesn’t seem as massive as before. Not with his brother to share it. It’s just a crush, Castiel tells himself. It’s been his mantra these past few weeks. It’s a crush and he’ll get over it.

* * *

It’s just a crush, Castiel tells himself again, late at night when he’s already in bed and Dean finally sends him a text saying he’s back home safe. It was a difficult fire to put out but they managed it, and thankfully there are no casualties. 

It’s just a crush, Castiel tells himself, even as relief washes through him, almost as strong as the longing to call Dean and hear his voice. To pretend they’re in bed together and talk about their day. 

It’s just a crush, and he’ll get over it.


	6. Fourth of July

“Ash, come on, man, hurry up!” Dean calls from the front door. With one hand he’s holding a cooler with beer and ice, and with the other, he’s trying to drag Jo’s suitcase. And he _will_ be chewing her out later for bringing a whole fucking suitcase with her on a day trip! It’s ridiculous, they won’t even be that far away from home. The cabin they’ve rented for the day is only an hour and a half drive from here. Though Dean might have to break a few traffic rules to get them there in time if Ash doesn’t hurry up. “Ash, either you get your ass here in the next ten seconds or I _will_ leave without you.”

“Alright, alright! Enough with the shouting.” Ash saunters out of his bedroom and grabs a denim vest to pull on from the nearest chair, perfectly calm and not in the least fazed by Dean’s imminent outburst. “You need to relax, Dean. Want me to share my joint with you?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Designated driver, remember?”

“Your loss,” Ash says in a sing-song voice. “I got the good stuff for our party.”

“And I’m sure the others will appreciate it. _If_ we ever make it there before the party’s over!” 

There’s a small vein ready to burst on Dean’s forehead, but Ash finally, fucking _finally_ , pushes Dean out the door, closes and locks it behind them and heads down to the car. Dean won’t even grumble for him not offering to help, he’s just happy they’re ready to head out at last. 

Cas is turned to face back when Dean gets into the car, an arm over the back of the seat, laughing at something Jo told him and Dean didn’t quite catch. He’s still grinning when he turns to Dean, nose wrinkled, and so damn attractive he makes the day a little brighter. 

Dean tears his eyes away to start the car.

“Everyone ready to head out?”

“Hell yeah!” Jo throws her hands up and claps, her cheering loud enough to draw the attention of a few passers-by. 

“Cas, my man,” Ash says and leans forward to stick his head between Dean and Cas. “Wanna share?” 

He holds out a hand-rolled joint, and Cas squints down at it, tilting his head in bird-like confusion.

“Hey, no smoking in the car,” Dean roars and elbows Ash until he gets the hint and sits back. “No drinking either,” he warns Jo through the rearview mirror. 

“Yes, Mom,” Jo says and sticks her tongue out at him, which prompts Cas to laugh again. 

Some of the tension melts off Dean’s shoulders. If Cas is having fun with their bickering then they’re off to a good start. Even if they’re late. As Sam pointedly texts to remind him several times. And tells him, once they’re finally there.

“We’ve been waiting for you for an hour,” Sam says, giving Dean one of his usual bitch faces, softened only by the hand Eileen presses on his shoulder. “We’ve already set up the grill and marinated the meat.”

“And everyone is already in their swimsuits and on their third beer,” Eileen points out, gesturing at her patriotically colored bikini paired with denim shorts featuring star studs on one side. “You four have some catching up to do.”

“Thank God we brought lots of booze,” Jo says slyly, not in the least deterred by the fact that she’s carrying neither the cooler with the booze nor the suitcase she made Dean bring all the way out here. She just taps him lightly on the shoulder and tells him, “Put those in the cabin for me will ya?”

“Of course, your majesty,” Dean replies, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Anything else you want me to do while I’m at it? Maybe lick your boots clean for you? Lie over a puddle on the ground so you can step on me.”

“He’s touchy,” Ash comments, the tip of his joint caught between his lips. If glaring could kill, Ash should drop dead anytime now, but Dean’s internal wishing is apparently not strong enough. It doesn’t stop him from trying, though.

Then, a warm hand finds his shoulder, its weight solid and reassuring, and Cas says, “Let me help. I’ll take Jo’s suitcase.”

“What? No, come on, it’s your first time out here, I won’t make you carry Jo’s stuff because she’s a spoiled princess.”

“I want to help.”

“Sam can help,” Dean decides and pushes the suitcase towards Sam. “You go ahead and change while I drop this off in the kitchen.”

Cas hesitates, eyes searching Dean’s face for a moment, but then his hand falls away, fingers trailing down Dean’s arm and raising a shiver on their way before it lands by his side again. He follows Eileen towards the cabin, completely oblivious to the way Dean’s gone perfectly still and maybe a little hot under his collar. 

Sam does notice, and his knowing smirk is too self-satisfied for Dean’s liking. “Shut up,” he growls, hauling the cooler up on his shoulder and stepping neatly past his brother. 

* * *

He finds Charlie sprawled on a deck chair, wearing a high cut blue one-piece with white stars. He’s starting to see a pattern in the swimsuits everyone’s chosen. Even Sam’s is a generic shade of blue that fits with the theme of the day. Dean packed his black one. Eh, the others can deal.

“Where’s your swimsuit?” Charlie asks, lowering her sunglasses to the tip of her nose to take a better look at him. 

“Still in the car,” Dean calls over his shoulder before heading inside. 

Charlie, clearly not happy with that answer trails after him. “Where’s Cas?”

“Should be in one of the rooms changing.”

“Uh, so you’ll finally get to see him out of his sensible shoes and terrible ties?” she asks, taking advantage of Dean opening the cooler to grab a beer for herself.

“Keep your voice down,” Dean shushes her. He checks around but it seems they’re alone for now. Everyone else is either upstairs or outside. Still, he presses a finger to his lips and lifts his eyebrows at Charlie.

“Sorry,” she mutters. In the same breath, she holds her bottle out for Dean to open against the counter. Dean indulges her, but not without rolling his eyes first. Why does everyone seem to act like he’s their maid? 

Though he would rock that frilly apron.

Satisfied, Charlie hops to sit on the counter and takes a sip of her beer. “So you still haven’t told Sam about your holidate thing?”

“The only reason I told you was in case I needed your help on New Year’s Eve.”

“I think you handled making out with him just fine on your own,” Charlie says, raising her eyebrows cheekily. 

“I wasn’t making out with him,” Dean insists, even after having made the same argument several times in the past few months and never coming close to convincing Charlie. “It was just a peck. For show.”

“A peck,” Charlie says flatly. “You were a second away from dipping him like a Disney princess.”

“That’s not how it happened.”

“That’s totally how it happened.”

“You’re just making shit up.”

“Am not.”

There’s the clatter of several pairs of feet coming down the stairs—Dean and Charlie’s cue to shut the hell up—followed by happy chatter and muffled giggles, and then Jo, Ash, and Cas all join them in the kitchen demanding beers, and Dean’s brain needs a moment to catch up because, damn, Cas looks good out of his usual clothes, all broad shoulders and defined abs, slick muscles moving under tan skin when he reaches to open the fridge. There’s a freckle over his right nipple, a hint of sharp hipbone where his swim shorts ride a little low, and his thighs, God, Dean knew Cas has amazing thighs, but now they’re no longer hiding under his slacks or his trench coat Dean can’t stop looking.

And then he notices Cas’ swim shorts have little bees on them and Dean can’t stop looking for an entirely different reason.

“Oh, gross. Ash, get a mop for Dean’s drool,” Jo says, shoving Dean’s shoulder and bringing him back to reality.

Kind of breathless, Dean nods at Cas’ swim shorts, doing his damn best to hide the warmth spreading quickly through him. “You still five, Cas?”

Cas frowns—of course he does, the adorable dork. “I like bees. And these were a gift from Anna.”

“Well, if it was a gift from Anna,” Dean says, voice not cracking. He counts that as a win. 

“Ugh, get a room,” Jo calls, face scrunching with disgust. Then she seems to reconsider that. “Or maybe don’t, because Ash and I are gonna show Cas the rope swing down at the lake. You can debauch him later.”

Cas only seems further confused by all the talk of debauching, while Dean tries his hardest not to think about what Cas would look like debauched—almost impossible to do with Cas standing basically half-naked in front of him—but Jo and Ash drag Cas along to ‘teach him how to party.’ Dean’s brain is so fried he doesn’t even think about stopping them until it’s too late.

Charlie’s gaze is heavy and knowing when it lands back on him. “Yeah, you two are best bros.”

“Oh shut up.”

“Be careful, Winchester. I think you might be catching feelings.”

Shoulders slumping, Dean sighs. 

Reading his silence for exactly what it is, Charlie gasps. “You do! You actually do have feelings for him!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Charlie. I—” Dean rubs the back of his neck, conscious of the flush creeping up there to reach his ears. “I’m happy. I mean, he’s awesome, and I like spending time with him, and that’s mostly normal but sometimes I just look at him and I’m hit with this, this… happiness. It’s the happiest I’ve been in a relationship, and I’m not even dating the guy for real.”

“Why not date him for real then?” Charlie asks curiously.

“Because.” Dean waves his hands around uselessly. He deflates. “I don’t think he likes me that way. I mean, you should have seen him when his dad mentioned marriage, the guy looked like he was nauseous.”

“To be fair, I’d look nauseous, too, if my parents mentioned marriage in front of my boyfriend of four-months, or... girlfriend, I guess, in my case.” 

“What if he’s dating other people?”

Charlie’s brows draw together in confusion. “Why would he be dating other people?”

“Because he’s not dating me?” Dean asks. “Because now that there’s no pressure for him to bring someone home he can meet people and have fun? That’s what I would do.”

There’s a pause, the silence between them only made louder by the drifting noise of the party outside. Judging by the song playing, it’s not hard to guess it’s Benny acting as today’s DJ. Ash, Jo and Cas will have made it to the lakeshore by now, Dean thinks distantly. 

“Are you?” Charlie asks at last, and Dean has no idea what she means. She must read it in his expression because she clears her throat and clarifies, “Are you dating other people?”

“No. Not anymore,” Dean admits. “Last date I went out was with Aaron and you know how that ended.”

“Aaron, really? Was the sex that bad that it scared you off dating?”

“The sex wasn’t bad.” In hindsight, maybe it was a little awkward, but not… bad. “It just wasn’t… it wasn’t...”

Charlie sticks her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. She opens her arms beckoning him closer. “It wasn’t Cas,” she finishes for him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as Dean steps into the hug. “Oh, Dean. You have to talk to him.”

“I know,” Dean says into her hair. “I know.”

* * *

Telling himself he’s going to man up and talk to Cas is one thing. Doing it is a completely different story. In Dean’s defense, though, it’s not like he and Cas get a single minute alone. Dean is stuck grilling hot dogs, and Cas is dragged from one activity to the other. There’s swimming with Ash and Jo at first, while Dean watches from afar, doing his best not to imagine what Cas dripping with water looks like from up close. Then there’s drinking with Garth and Benny, and then there’s Ash again, dragging Cas to continue the party out of Dean’s eyesight. 

“It’s a nice party, right?” Eileen asks, coming to stand next to him. 

Dean hums, eyes still glued to the treeline behind which Cas disappeared several minutes ago—they’re coming up to twelve any second now, Dean’s been counting. He’s vaguely aware of Eileen’s eyes on him, probably waiting for an answer or even an acknowledgement he’s heard her, but Dean can’t find it in him to bother. 

“You know,” Eileen says, softer this time, soft enough that Dean doesn’t even realize she’s speaking at first. “You don’t have to be up here. You can go have fun, too. Benny can take over for you.”

“Yeah, I know.” And it’s not that Dean doesn’t trust Benny with the food. It’s not even that he’s usually the one cooking and that he wants to honor the tradition. It’s just—if he’s being honest with himself—that he’s scared shitless. He’s scared he’ll get down there and steal Cas away and try to kiss him, kiss him for real, and Cas will reject him. 

“I think it’s a shame that you’re stuck up here doing all the work while everyone else is enjoying themselves,” Eileen continues, blissfully unaware of the internal battle currently raging inside Dean’s skull. “And I think Cas came here to spend time with _you_ , not your friends.”

At that Dean finally snaps out of his thoughts. He turns to face her, but words fail him, so he swallows instead. Cas is here _for_ Dean, that’s true, but Dean doubts he cares about how much of his time is actually spent with him. But he can’t tell her that. As far as Eileen knows, or anyone at this party for that matter—save for Benny and Charlie—he and Cas are _a thing_. He won’t think of the L word, he won’t. 

There’s the clutter of something being placed on the table next to the grill, and the weight of a presence next to Dean that instinctively knows belongs to Sam. Not a lot of people cast a shadow over Dean’s head when they approach, after all. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing,” Dean snaps at the same time Eileen leans to catch Sam’s eye and says, “Cas.”

“Shouldn’t I be having this discussion with Dean?” Sam asks, an amused smile tugging at the edges of his lips. He’s brought steaks from the fridge, marinated and waiting on a large platter along with a knife and fork—it's the chef's prerogative to snack on his food while preparing it. 

“No, you shouldn’t,” Dean bites back. “Cause we’re not having this discussion.”

“Oh come on, Dean,” Eileen says. “You two are cute together.”

“Adorable,” Sam signs back, making Eileen giggle, and Dean’s mouth pinches together with displeasure. 

“You guys are too loud,” Dean says. “And what Cas and I are is none of your business.”

“We’re just teasing you.” Sam elbows Dean at the waist and brushes his too-long hair out of his eyes. “You’ve been teasing Eileen and me forever, so it’s only right we get our revenge now.”

Dean can’t exactly argue with that. Just because he’s in a sour mood doesn’t mean he’s going to ruin this for Sam and Eileen, too. Besides, his luck just might be changing, Dean thinks, perking up at the sight of Cas jogging up to the cabin. There’s a gummy grin splitting his flushed cheeks, his hair is wild like a bird tried to make a nest in it, and it’s hard for Dean not to grin back at him.

“Cas, what are you—” Dean starts, only for his words to be cut off by 200 pounds of Cas basically thrown into his arms. Cas stumbles, surrendering all his weight on Dean, and Dean takes a step back, plants his legs firmly on the ground and wraps his arms around his waist to keep him up. “Wow, dude. You okay?”

“I am—” Cas giggles, his breath tickling Dean with the way he has his face buried in the crook of Dean’s neck. He pulls away, using his hold on Dean’s shoulders, and stares up at Dean, pupils blown under his thick lashes. “I’m great. I’m just great. Dean, you have no idea.” And then he’s a giggling mess again, collapsing again against Dean, who can do nothing but hold him tighter. 

“Um,” Dean says, exchanging a look with Sam and Eileen over Cas’ head. “I guess Ash convinced you to share that joint after all.”

“Yeah, he did,” Cas says, sighing, and the warmth of his breath sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. Despite Dean’s best attempts to lead him towards a chair, Cas resists, untangling a hand from the tight space between them to pat Dean’s cheek fondly. He throws his head back to catch Dean’s gaze and hold it—as if Dean could ever look anywhere else right now. Cas’ mouth falls open. “Oh. Dean. Your eyes, they’re… they’re so _green!”_

“Yeah, he’s definitely high,” Sam says, a hand over his mouth, trying to hide his choked laughter. “Must be a lightweight.”

“He’s kinda cute,” Eileen comments, reaching to ruffle his hair. 

“I’m glad you two are enjoying this,” Dean says, though some parts of him are definitely enjoying the way he and Cas are pressed together, the way Castiel feels solid and warm under his hands—all the more reason for Dean to find a chair to put him in as fast as possible. “At least help me out.”

And Sam and Eileen do, God bless them they do, but Cas is a very grabby octopus right now, and a very possessive octopus who does not want to part from Dean at any cost, and so the four of them spin in an awkward tangle of limbs and swimsuits, closer and closer to the chair. Dean pivots, ready to drop Cas there, but Sam also tries to pry Cas away, which only makes Cas press against Dean more stubbornly. Dean loses his balance, lands on the chair with a surprised ‘oof’ and a lap full of Cas. 

At least Cas seems satisfied. “You have very green eyes,” Cas repeats, slumping against Dean, head tucked under Dean’s jaw. “Very pretty eyes.” And then he giggles again. 

“I guess you two are not moving for a while,” Eileen comments, biting down a smile. She and Sam exchange a look, and she adds, “I’ll go and tell Benny he’s in charge of food,” before jogging away. 

“Dean,” Sam starts, and Dean groans. He raises his arms up in surrender. “Just keep it in your pants, that’s all I’m asking for.” And he abandons his brother, his own blood, in the most awkward position possible. 

“Did Sam just insinuate that we’re going to copulate?” Cas asks against Dean’s throat.

“Copulate, Jesus, Cas.” It’s weird, but even the odd way Cas talks from time to time doesn’t help the way Dean’s swimsuit feels on the right side of tighter. Or maybe it’s the wrong side of tighter. Thing is, even if Cas wants Dean like that he wouldn’t take advantage of Cas when he’s high. 

So suffer he must.

Both because he has to will his blood to rush back to his other body parts while Cas continues being adorable and clingy, but also because for the next hour or so, he receives more pointed looks and smirks from his friends than he has in his life. Benny actually tosses casually over his back “There are bedrooms upstairs, you know,” while he grills, and Dean hates him for it enough that he tries to glare holes through the back of his head. Predictably it doesn’t work. 

The silver lining here is that at least now Dean is monopolizing Cas’ attention. And hey, Cas is cute like this, all the stiffness gone from his shoulders, giggling endlessly. Dean is kind of disappointed when the food is ready and he and Cas are called to join the others for a picnic by the lake shore. The food more than makes up for it, though, as does the way Cas rests against Dean’s side the whole time. 

A couple of hours later, after the sun has sunk low behind the horizon, after the hazy glow of twilight has completely faded away, and when Cas is finally sobering up, they sit side by side and watch the stars over their heads. Beers loosely hanging from their hands, arms barely brushing with their every inhale, they sit and watch while the others go for one last swim, the music a blurry background noise. Jo has dragged her suitcase down to reveal that she made Dean carry half a store supply of fireworks, and Garth is helping her set everything up for their big finale. Dean’s not even mad for carrying that thing, though his back might complain tomorrow.

“This is nice,” Cas says with a long sigh. A beat. He bursts out laughing and drops his head on Dean’s shoulder. Not so sober after all. 

Dean brings his bottle to his lips to avoid doing something stupid like resting his head on Cas’. He lets Cas rest, eyes following Sam as he snatches Eileen from behind, spins her around and then throws them both in the water. They emerge still holding onto each other, and Sam places a soft kiss on her lips. His brother’s happy. 

“Hey, Dean,” Cas says. A giggle, and he clears his throat like he’s trying really hard to stay serious for this conversation. “Thank you for inviting me. I had a really good time.”

“And you haven’t even seen the fireworks yet,” Dean replies, and this time he can’t resist the temptation to throw his arm around Cas’ shoulder. It’s a test except not really, because Cas does snuggle closer like Dean had intended, but there’s still that small part in the back of his head that insists _friends can cuddle, too, it doesn’t mean he has feelings for you._ It’s his turn to clear his throat. “They should be about to start.”

As if that was their cue, there’s the first ‘whoosh’, the collectively held breath, and the sky explodes in colors. Loud cheering rises to echo that first explosion, only to be drowned out in the next second by the next firework. Cas pulls away from Dean to tilt his head back, face cast in red, orange, then white. Red again. He stands on wobbly feet, takes a couple of steps forward, shoulders rising with his next breath. When he turns to face Dean again, he’s nothing but a shadow, outlined by a golden rain of sparkles. 

Dean’s stomach does a nervous flip. 

“It’s beautiful.”

A hundred cliche scenes from rom-coms flash through Dean’s mind, but still he can’t help himself. Without taking his eyes off Castiel he says, “Yeah, it is.”

 _Bang!_

Everything is washed in red again. 

_Bang!_

The world lights up in short white bursts. 

Dean stands up, too, dusts his knees. Cas is still looking at him, eyes impossibly blue. It’d be the easiest thing for Dean to just close the distance between them. 

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Orange. Red. White. Red again, lingering like a fog over the treetops.

“Seriously, Dean, these past few months have been some of the best of my life,” Cas says, voice barely carrying over the cacophony of fireworks and voices. Dean’s pulse beats loud in his ears, its rhythm interrupted by every crack of color in the sky. 

There’s that golden rain coming again, Dean can recognize it by the way it spirals up the sky. It seems like it’s the last one, the big finale. 

It’s the perfect moment. 

_Bang!_

“I’m so glad we met,” Cas says. Giggles.

The explosion of light.

Cas’ soft smile, the way he holds Dean’s eyes. 

The golden rain behind him. 

“You’re my best friend.”

And then... nothing. Silence and darkness. 

All that’s left is ashes. 


	7. Gabriel's Wedding

“I now pronounce you, husband and wife,” the pastor says, and before he has finished speaking, Gabriel has his hands on either side of Kali’s face and pulls her in. The crowd cheers, a party popper goes off too close to Castiel for comfort and confetti rains down on the wedding party. The pastor sighs, closing his bible with a resigned thud. For the sake of tradition he says, “You may kiss your bride,” though no one is listening to him anymore.

Castiel claps along with everybody else, pausing only long enough to squeeze Michael’s shoulder, which is shaking with the way he’s trying to hold back his tears. Castiel never had Michael pegged as the type to cry at his brother’s wedding, but then again, he never had Gabe pegged as the marrying type yet here they all are. Judging from the look he shares with Anna, who is standing behind Kali along with the other bridesmaids, she is thinking something along those lines as well. 

There’s a loud sob from the front row—Jimmy bawling his eyes out, undoubtedly—and Castiel turns to look, but his eyes snatch on Dean instead, sitting just behind Jimmy, and the way his suit stretches over his broad shoulders, so distracting that Castiel’s breath hitches for a second. His eyes follow the line of Dean’s throat, from his Adam’s apple to the hinge of his jaw, plush lips, straight nose and finally, green eyes lock with Castiel’s. Dean’s face is glowing. He gives Castiel a thumbs-up, and Castiel feels his own mouth stretching into a grin to match the one on Dean’s. 

The past two weeks have been a little awkward between them, strained even, though Castiel has time and time again apologized for getting high at that fourth of July party and Dean has time and time again insisted that it’s fine, _I’m not mad, Cas, swear to God._ Castiel doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t know what else to do, however, and since whatever is bothering Dean is not a big enough problem to end their agreement and Dean seems to have reverted back to his flirty, confident self, at least for the day, Castiel finds Dean as they’re all leaving the church and takes the hand offered to him.

Dean’s fingers are warm in his, if a little more hesitant than what Castiel is used to. 

“Well,” Castiel asks, cheeks already hurting from smiling too much. “What did you think?”

Dean chews on his lower lip, teeth leaving pink marks on the soft flesh that beg for Castiel’s attention; Castiel keeps staring into Dean’s eyes instead. “It was a beautiful ceremony,” he says at last, eyes flicking to something over Castiel’s head and his face crumbles. He laughs, full-body and warm, and he pulls Castiel closer. “I’m sorry. But it’s all I’ve been able to look at for the past few minutes. Come here.”

He raises his hand and for a moment Castiel thinks Dean is about to cup his face or maybe drag his knuckles over his cheekbone, but Dean’s hand moves higher, fingers brushing over Castiel’s hair, plucking something from there and showing it to Castiel. It’s a rose gold confetti. 

Dean lets it flutter to the ground and steps back so there’s a more appropriate distance between them. 

“Thank you,” Castiel manages to utter, despite the heat pooling low in his belly. 

“Don’t mention it,” Dean replies, tagging Castiel towards where a big tent has been set up for the reception. “Come on, I heard there’s a cocktail bar.”

“There’s a donut bar, too,” Castiel informs him, voice still a little hoarse. “Gabriel insisted on it.”

Dean gapes at him in disbelief, then insists Cas shows him the donut bar, where they spend the better part of ten minutes while Dean tries to decide what to get. Things are almost normal between them. Not being the center of attention probably helps. When everyone is too busy watching Gabe lead Kali around the dance floor, careful of her big belly, and Jimmy has the pleasure of meeting Anna’s French boyfriend for the first time, too, no one has the time to spend on the younger brother and his boyfriend as they stuff their faces full with food and drinks like there’s no tomorrow. 

Castiel is almost sure that Dean has forgiven him by now for making an ass of himself on the fourth of July and harassing Dean where he couldn’t escape. Spending an hour on your fake-boyfriend’s lap is not polite. At least he’s pretty sure Dean doesn’t suspect Cas has a stupid crush on him.

Somewhere between ordering another cocktail and Dean being dragged away by Amelia to dance, Castiel finds himself sitting with his father, who has cornered Anna’s boyfriend and is currently trying his hardest to communicate with him in broken French, though the poor man speaks English fluently and has pointed that out several times already. Jimmy pretends not to hear that in favor of mispronouncing his name again. 

With a shake of his head, Castiel rests his chin on his fist, and watches the couples dancing. Gabriel and Kali are still in the center of the dance floor, only this time they have their foreheads pressed together, Gabe’s hand careful as it rests on Kali's ready-to-pop belly, and he guides her in gentle spins, around and around. They look very much in love, and Castiel is sure they can’t wait for their family to get bigger. 

Something aches inside his chest, burns with shame for being even a little jealous of his brother’s happiness, and Castiel tears his eyes away. His gaze lands on Dean—as it tends to do lately—bent at the waist to hold Amelia’s hands, her small feet on his shoes as she grins up at him, and Dean gives her his most charming smile in response. So maybe Uncle Dean is her favorite, but with how handsome Dean looks Castiel can’t blame her. He can only watch them as they dance, and the pain inside Castiel’s chest becomes more insistent, like a bruise that won’t fade away. 

Castiel brings his glass to his lips and drains the pink, sugary cocktail. Over the rim of it, he sees Michael tap Dean on the shoulder, and ask if he may have the next dance with Amelia. Dean easily steps back to let father and daughter have their moment, but not before leaning closer to hear something Michael is telling him. Castiel can’t tell what is it from that far away, but then Dean’s eyes rise, find Castiel’s, catch and hold. 

Heat is creeping up Castiel’s neck. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, tries to loosen his bowtie but the damn thing won’t budge. 

“Need a hand with that?” Dean asks, looking sheepish and awkward as he approaches the table. 

Castiel raises an eyebrow, but he allows Dean to work the bowtie loose, slip it off his neck and stuff it into his pants pocket. He doesn’t even complain when Dean reaches up again to undo a couple of Castiel’s buttons with deft fingers, then runs his palms down Castiel’s shoulders as if smoothing out the fabric of his jacket. 

“There,” Dean says softly. “Looking better already.”

Castiel could swear Dean’s avoiding looking at him. 

But then Dean clears his throat, leans closer and says, “Michael said I should ask you to dance with me.”

“I—what?” Castiel asks, blinking down at the hand Dean holds up at him. “Are you seriously—”

“Yes, I am. Will you dance with me, Cas?”

Castiel doesn’t trust his voice to speak. He takes Dean’s hand instead and allows Dean to lead him out on the dance floor. He’s sure Gabriel asked for a playlist composed of mostly fun dance songs, but it’s just his luck that another slow, romantic song starts. There’s an awkward second where both he and Dean try to put their hands on the other’s hips, then Castiel quickly changes his mind and wraps his arms around Dean’s neck instead. Dean flashes him a grateful smile, and Castiel has to resist the urge to melt against him. 

This is only for show, he has to remind himself. 

He fixes his gaze somewhere over Dean’s shoulder and sways with him to the gentle rhythm. He ignores the heat radiating from Dean, inches away from him, just like he ignores the shift of muscles under his hands every time they move.

This is just for show. This is just for show. He grits his teeth together and he repeats that mantra silently.

He’s so absorbed in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice Dean has pulled them closer until he feels his breath hot over his ear. “Some people are staring at us,” Dean whispers. 

Fighting down the shiver that traces its fingertips up his spine, Castiel angles his face away. Some people are indeed staring at them, but most of them are Castiel’s extended family. Jimmy has surely been talking nonstop about Dean to them in the past few months, and now, they’re unabashedly staring at ‘the man who saved Cassie from monkhood’—Jimmy’s words, overheard one day while he was talking with Castiel’s aunt on the phone. 

“They’re distant cousins,” he tells Dean, trying to hide his scowl against Dean’s shoulder. “They like to gossip.”

Dean’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “Let’s give them something to gossip about then.”

Castiel doesn’t have the time to frown up at him because in one swift motion Dean pulls Castiel’s hand from around his neck, uses his grip to guide Castiel in an underarm turn that’s too fast for the gentle music and that sends Castiel away from Dean, their arms extended for a brief second. If Castiel had even a drop of dancing talent in him, or even if he’d had the slightest warning, he might have the time to pose at this beat, like Dean does, his free hand thrown behind his head, but he doesn’t. He barely keeps his balance before Dean pulls him back in, sneaks an arm around his back and dips him. 

There’s a horrifying moment during which the world spins around him and Castiel’s sure he’s about to fall, but Dean’s hold is firm, and Castiel digs his finger into the meat of Dean’s arm and somehow it works. Not that he’s a good dancer, or that Dean is much better than him—he thinks their current pose is actually funny rather than elegant—but it does bring Dean’s face right over Castiel, that charming grin and green eyes up close, close enough that their noses would brush if Castiel turned his head a little. He’s cast in shadows by the twinkling string of lights above them, his figure outlined with a warm, ethereal glow.

Castiel’s heart skips a beat.

“Impressive, right?” Dean breathes between them.

Castiel gives a jerky nod.

Dean pulls him back up. They’re standing chest to chest now, Dean’s arm still warm around Castiel, and he easily leads Castiel in a simple box step, smoothly finding the rhythm again. “I bet they’ll be talking about it for a long time,” he says, eyes downcast, long, golden-tipped eyelashes fanning over his cheeks. 

Distantly, Castiel knows Dean’s talking about his cousins. The truth is he doesn’t care much. Still breathless, skin tingling low at his back where Dean has his palm flat over it, he can barely think of anything else. 

“If you were my real boyfriend I’d kiss you now,” he says. Dean’s eyes snap up to him, and Castiel flushes to his hair roots. They’re doing this for his extended family, he reminds himself. “It just seems appropriate. What with the slow dancing and the lights and everything.”

Dean makes a small noise in the back of his throat, lips pressing into a thin line, and there’s ice in Castiel’s veins, his muscles contracting as he prepares to jerk away and apologize—it’s too much, what he just asked, he’s sure he made Dean uncomfortable.

Dean drops Castiel’s hand—here comes the rejection, Castiel prepares for it—and he cups the back of Castiel’s neck and pulls him in, noses bumping, mouths fitting together awkwardly at first, but then Dean pulls back, takes a tiny breath, angles his head and they’re kissing properly. It’s soft and gentle, lips brushing together feather-like again and again, and God, Cas has kissed his fair share of people, more filthy and more urgent than this, but his mind has never gone blank like this before. 

It’s not like New Year’s Eve. There’s no champagne fizzing through his veins to make him dizzy, but he feels drunk all the same. He exhales through his nose, whole body deflating, melting against Dean, his free hand finding Dean’s sleeve and fisting there, holding on. He’s not sure his knees will keep him up otherwise.

Time slows down. The music fades away. With his eyes closed, no one else exists. Castiel feels tethered to this moment, like he’s walking on a tight-rope, perfectly balanced, high above everything else. 

Dean breaks away first, fingertips dragging over Castiel’s skin, from his neck to the curve of his ear, the line of his jaw. He steps back, clearing his throat—there’s the beginning of a blush painting his nose and cheeks. Castiel wants to kiss him again.

He doesn’t. 

He allows Dean to spin them around a couple more times, and then the song is over, and they pull apart. 

“I think I need a break,” Dean says, pushing his hands in his pockets. He looks past Jimmy still terrorizing Anna’s boyfriend and nods with his head towards an empty table. “Join me?”

“Sure.” In his peripheral vision, Castiel can see a couple of his cousins sending jealous looks his way, but that only makes his chest constrict further, squeezing the air out of his lungs. He follows Dean, thanking him when he pulls the chair out for Castiel like the gentleman Dean can be sometimes. Usually when he’s putting on a show for others. The thought burns in the back of his throat. 

Dean taps two fingers on the table. He’s still standing. “Hey, Cas?”

“Hm?”

“We’re friends. Right?”

Castiel glances up at him, caught by surprise by that question. He frowns. “Of course, Dean.”

Dean nods solemnly. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. You know what, I’m gonna get myself a real drink. Want anything?” 

Castiel shakes his head. He watches Dean walk to the open bar, and for some reason, he feels like he just said the wrong thing. 

* * *

Two hours and several more trips to the open bar later, Dean’s collapsed over the table, and Castiel is rubbing comforting circles between his shoulders. Not for the first time today, he wonders why people get drunk at weddings. The guests have dwindled down to only a handful now—even Jimmy left about an hour ago, insisting young people deserve to have some fun unsupervised. It’s time for them to head back home, too.

Tracking down Gabriel and Kali and hugging them goodbye is the easy part. Even Dean manages to do it, patting Gabe on the back and wishing him the best time on his honeymoon. No one has the heart to remind him that the honeymoon won’t be for another year since they’re too close to Kali’s due date—it’s only three weeks away now. 

The hard part is figuring out how to get back home. Castiel’s first instinct is to call an Uber. Dean’s clearly not good to drive, and Castiel hasn’t driven in years, so he’s not about to try his luck with the Impala on the line. 

Dean has other plans. _We’re not leaving Baby here,_ he insists, trying to wrestle Cas’ phone out of his hands so he can’t call an Uber, and _I’m not even that drunk,_ and _, Look I’ll walk in a straight line to prove it._

He can’t walk in a straight line. 

Castiel sighs. Eyes the black car sitting in the mostly empty parking area. Eyes Dean. Sighs resigned. 

“Fine, give me your keys. I’ll drive.”

Dean spins around, wildly. “You don’t drive.”

“No, but I’d like to get home some time tonight, you’re not going to let me call an Uber, and I’m not going to let you drive. So.”

“We can sleep in the back seat. Sammy and I used to do it all the time when we went on roadtrips.”

“I’m too old to sleep in the back seat,” Castiel complains. He holds out his hand. “Give me the keys.”

Dean scowls, chews on his lower lip. At last, he digs in his pocket and relents the keys to Castiel. “Fine. But I swear, if I find a single scratch on her tomorrow, I—”

“I’m not that bad a driver,” Castiel protests. 

There’s a tenth of a second, where despite all his logical arguments, he heads for the passenger side out of habit. Thank God Dean’s too drunk to notice. As a matter of fact, Dean’s too drunk to do anything but fall asleep as soon as he’s inside the car. So much for all his threatening to breathe down Castiel’s neck the whole ride back home. So much for managing to get himself out of the car and up to his apartment, too, Castiel thinks, Dean’s arm thrown over his shoulder as he drags Dean up two flights of stairs, fumbles with the keys he finds in his pocket and lets them both in. 

He drops Dean on the bed, pausing only long enough to remove his shoes and his jacket, untie his bowtie and drop it on the bedside table. He’s been inside Dean’s apartment plenty of times before, has kicked his shoes off to rest his feet on the low table in front of Dean’s couch, beer in hand, a bowl of popcorn between them as Dean ‘educated’ him on ‘pop culture from the last two decades.’ He’s never been inside Dean’s bedroom, though. It’s a little unsettling, like he’s intruding into Dean’s privacy. It’s why he makes sure not to turn on the lights or go digging through drawers for Dean’s pajamas. If Dean wears pajamas to bed. 

Castiel is about to get up and leave when there’s a tug at his sleeve that makes him pause. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says softly, and Cas hums to let him know he’s still there. Dean swallows. “Stay with me? I’m not… I’m not feeling very well.”

“Sure,” Castiel says. He has to go to work tomorrow morning, but he can just wake up earlier and stop by his apartment to change first. “I’ll sleep on the couch, okay?”

Dean’s fingers tighten on Castiel’s sleeve. “No, I mean—the bed’s big enough for both of us.”

Castiel hesitates. The bed is more comfortable. And he can keep an eye on Dean in case he gets sick in the middle of the night if he sleeps here. Yes, that’s right. Castiel is a doctor, and he’s only doing what’s best for his patient. Nothing weird about this. 

He sheds his jacket and shirt, leaving him in his pants, socks, and undershirt. With the curtains closed, it’s hard to make out the details, but he can see Dean shifting over to make room, lifting the covers in a silent invitation. Castiel crawls into the bed next to him, settling on his side facing Dean, while Dean tucks a hand under his cheek and stares at Castiel. 

“Hi,” Dean says in the few inches of empty space between them.

“Hello,” Castiel replies. The mattress is memory foam, much more comfortable than the one he has at his apartment, and the pillow smells faintly of Dean. In the dark, it’s hard to judge the distance between them, but Castiel thinks it wouldn’t take much to settle his hand on Dean’s hip, pull him closer. Their kiss from when they were dancing plays back in his mind, the way Dean had pulled Castiel in without hesitation. What if… What if Dean wanted to kiss him, too? 

What if Castiel isn’t alone in this?

The thought makes his stomach drop through the mattress to the floor. His breath comes out short and pained. Dean’s still facing him, and from the way he’s breathing, Castiel knows he’s not sleeping yet. Maybe Dean’s also thinking about it. Maybe they’re both waiting for the other to take the first step. 

Castiel shifts, palm flat on the mattress. All he has to do is reach out.

Dean exhales loudly. “Thanks for staying, Cas.” The words surprise Castiel, and he chickens out. And maybe it’s for the best because Dean says, “Goodnight,” and promptly turns his back to Castiel.

Hand frozen on the mattress between them, Castiel stares at Dean’s back, long enough that the rise and fall of his shoulders become slower, his breathing deeper as Dean falls asleep. 

Well, that was a close one. He guesses that answers his question then, Castiel is alone in this, and he’d better keep his hands to himself from now on. Still. Dean looks soft while sleeping. Younger. Castiel has to fist his hands in the sheets to stop himself from raking his fingers through Dean’s hair. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” he whispers. 


	8. Halloween

“Trick or tr—oh, shit, Dean! What happened to you?” 

Dean scowls at Jo and Ash. They’re dressed up as Sandy and Danny from Grease this year, and sure, Jo can pull off the head-to-toe leather, can even pull off the perm, but Ash can never, could never, pull off the elephant’s trunk hairstyle, even as a wig. So really, they are in no place to judge Dean’s costume. 

“Oh fuck off,” Dean says. “For your information, Cas and I were supposed to be Batman and Robin, but there was a mix-up and our order never came in.”

Ash eyes Dean up and down. “So you just… decided to dress up as a penis?”

“I’m a sausage!” Dean corrects. “And it was all I could find at such short notice.”

Jo turns to walk backward so she can face him as she walks inside. She bites down her smirk. “So is Cas dressed up as bacon then? Smoking hot _and_ delicious?”

“Cas is a bun,” Dean tells her, with a forced smile— _we actually have a concept, so there._ “We make a hot dog together.”

Ash chokes on his laugh. “Oh, Dean. You think _you’re_ the sausage in this relationship?”

“Hey, shut up,” Dean yells, raising a warning finger, but Ash is cackling like a maniac and isn’t even listening anymore. He urges them both inside quickly. The fewer people see him in this—or overhear this disaster of a conversation—the better, but a hand stops the door from closing.

“What’s so funny?” Charlie asks, pushing the door open to come inside, too. At least she thought to bring beer, Dean notices.

“Dean thinks he’s a sausage,” Ash answers, and Dean wishes he had something he could throw at him. There are the candies in the bowl by the door, but that would be a waste.

“It’s Halloween,” Charlie says with a grin, following the others inside, and she winks at Jo. “You’re supposed to dress up as something you’re not.”

“Ah, yes, laugh at me,” Dean tells them, flipping each and every one of them off. “Let’s see how you’ll feel when the pizzas arrive and I eat all of them by myself.”

“Cas wouldn’t let you,” Charlie points out, using the Gryffindor scarf wrapped around her neck to hit him in the face. Her Ginny Weasly costume is admittedly the best today, but only because Dean’s plans were ruined. He’d have been an awesome Batman. 

“So, how disappointed were you?” Jo asks, throwing a hand around his shoulder to pull Dean closer to her height. 

“About?”

Jo waggles her eyebrows. “About not seeing Cas in Robin’s shorts,” she clarifies and promptly ducks to avoid getting hit on the shoulder. “It’s a crime against humanity to keep those thighs hidden, Dean, I don’t blame you,” she adds, and even Charlie nods in agreement—the traitor, she’s _Dean’s_ best friend. 

Dean has a few choice words for them, but they are saved by the doorbell ringing again. This time it’s a group of kids trick-or-treating, and Dean puts on his smile, compliments their costumes, and showers them in candy. 

* * *

Cas arrives with Sam and Eileen about half an hour later, a giant foam bun squeezed between two pirates. They make for a funny picture, and Dean would usually be all over them with his jokes, but there’s something about his brother giving Cas a lift here that makes him pause. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel, especially not when he and Cas stare at each other for a beat too long and go for a hug instead of a kiss. 

It’s been months since Gabriel’s wedding, but Dean still is not sure how he’s supposed to act around Cas. He’s pretty sure kissing him that night didn’t cross any line—Cas himself said that it would be good for their cover to kiss at that particular moment—but everything that happened after...

Dean brushes his hand over Castiel’s, the most hesitant of touches. Cas doesn’t take it. He does smile up at Dean, though, and says, “Hello, Dean. I’m sorry we’re late.”

Not the warmest of greetings, but Dean will get what he can get.

“You guys are fine, the pizzas aren’t even here yet.”

“Have you started the horror movie marathon?” Eileen asks, hanging her coat by the door. 

“We’re waiting for you losers,” Ash calls from the couch, waits until Eileen glances in his direction, then makes a point of signing that again. 

Eileen huffs. “I won’t accept any sass from a dollar store greaser.”

“You’re just jealous because you can’t have any of this,” Ash shoots back, a wicked grin splitting his face ear to ear. 

“Alright hot-shot,” Charlie interrupts, kicking him. “Move over to the bean bags so the new arrivals can sit here.”

“Why do we have to sit in the bean bags?” Jo complains, curling away from Charlie.

“Because, Sam is too big to fit in them, and Dean and Cas have too much foam on their bodies.”

Ash’s eyes widen. He turns to Cas and Dean, hand fumbling in his pocket. He holds out ten dollars to them. “I’ll pay you to try and sit in the bean bags.”

Cas does his adorable, confused head tilt—not in the least made less adorable by the bun costume he’s wearing, quite the contrary actually—and Dean settles for flipping Ash off again. This is his house, and he’ll take the damn couch with his boyfriend— _fake-boyfriend_ , he reminds himself, gritting his teeth. 

Charlie kicks at Jo and Ash again. “Get off! I wanna watch people get murdered already. Dean, please put in the first movie.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Dean replies. 

There’s not much to do. Dean has already prepared enough popcorn to last them until the pizzas arrive, and Sam divides it into several bowls so that everyone can have at least one near them while they watch their movie. Then it’s just a matter of settling in and pressing _play_. 

The room sinks in silence, as the TV lights up with the opening credits. Dean tries his best to concentrate, he does, but he has so much on his mind, and he’s seen this movie half a dozen times already. When victim number one dies in an explosion of vivid-red blood, Dean barely notices—nothing new to see here.

He sighs. Reaches for the bowl of popcorn next to him out of sheer habit not because he’s actually hungry, and his fingers bump with someone else’s. Dean looks up just in time to see Cas flinch away. 

Dean’s chest clenches. His hand curls into a fist where it’s still hovering awkwardly over the bowl. 

Cas refuses to look back at him. His eyes remain stubbornly stuck on the screen, unmoving, unblinking. His face is cast in harsh shadows by the blinking light of the movie. 

Clearly, they’re not okay. Just because they've been going through the motions the past couple of months, doesn’t mean that Dean didn’t screw up. His knuckles are white when he drops his hand back on his lap. Now, the few inches of empty air between him and Cas feel like a rift, a frozen wasteland, instead of the charged field that pulled them pressed close together every time they were sitting side by side. Castiel keeps to his side, very deliberately, too.

Dean does the same.

The popcorn bowl between them is left untouched.

* * *

“—and that would be forty two and—”

Dean drops the pizza boxes into Sam’s waiting arms before turning around to pay the delivery guy. They’re half-way through the first movie, and finally, they have their dinner. As Jo loudly announced when she heard the doorbell, _the party’s about to start, bitches!_

Or something like that. Dean’s stomach is still too tight a knot to actually eat any of the pizza. 

Apparently, he’s not doing that good a job of hiding it, because Charlie grabs his elbow and gently tugs him towards his bedroom, while everyone else gathers in the kitchen.

“Wanna tell me who pissed in your corn flakes?” she asks, leaning against the bedroom door, arms folded over her chest.

“No one,” Dean answers, maybe a bit too defensive. Charlie watches him. “I swear, I’m fine.”

“Dean, you haven’t been fine for weeks,” Charlie points out. “I know it, Benny knows it, Sam knows it, too. You know he asked me if you and Cas had a fight? And I didn’t know what to tell him because you’re not _talking_ to me.”

“Wow, you guys sure like talking about my love life behind my back.”

Charlie cocks an eyebrow. “Is there a love life to talk about? Last I checked you were still a little wimp.”

“Hey,” Dean says. 

Charlie shrugs. “It’s the truth. It’s been, what? Four months? Almost four months? And you still haven’t talked to him, but now, instead of following him around like a love sick puppy, you mope around like a kicked kitten. Care to explain?”

With a long suffering sigh, Dean drops to sit on his bed, elbows on his knees. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Where is he supposed to start?

The mattress dips as Charlie joins him, and she reaches to take his hand in hers. 

Dean’s not one for chick-flick moments, but he doesn’t pull away. He swallows. He needs to talk to someone, someone who might understand, because his brain is trapped in a loop and maybe Charlie can help him break out of it.

“I did something stupid,” he says softly. Charlie waits for him to continue, her thumb brushing comforting circles over his knuckles. “I’m an idiot drunk, okay? You know it, hell, I know it. It’s not exactly a revelation, especially after drunk-me thought it was a good idea to fake-date someone as hot,”— _and kind, and considerate, and adorable, and pig-headed, and—Jesus, he’s got it bad—“_ as Cas.”

“You did something while drunk?” Charlie asks. 

“I—I may have asked him to sleep with me.” He feels Charlie go still next to him, can hear her sharp intake of breath, so he’s quick to clarify, “Just sleep. It was after his brother’s wedding, and I was drunk, and I wanted some company, and—I don’t know, at the time it seemed like a good idea—and I told him that I wanted him to stay. To look after me. And I told him—I told him that if he wanted he could sleep in my bed.” 

Charlie’s stare is heavy on the side of his face, but Dean can’t find it in him to meet it. 

“What did he say?”

“He—” Dean hesitates. He’s replayed that night a hundred times in his brain, the fuzzy, alcohol-blurred parts of it, the fragments that came back to him randomly in the coming days, the clear confusion of the next morning. “He laid down next to me, I remember that, just like I remember freaking out because he, he didn’t look that comfortable, and I remember that I wanted to kiss him and that I’d never been more scared in my life.”

“That’s because Cas is important to you,” Charlie says softly. “What did you do in the end?”

“I fell asleep.” He catches sight of the confusion clearly written all over Charlie’s face and he rolls his eyes. “Yes, I know—drunk idiot, remember?” He gestures at himself. “And anyway I guess that was a good choice after all, because when I woke up he was gone.”

Charlie shakes her head, frowning. “Gone? He got up and left?”

“Must have been after I fell asleep. All I remember is that I said something like goodnight, turned my back to him and then I woke up with a massive headache and the bed was empty. He didn’t wake me up, didn’t leave a note, didn’t even text me that day.”

“That was kind of rude of him,” Charlie offers, squeezing his hand a little. She hums, narrowing her eyes at nothing in particular. “Did you ask him about it?”

“What? No,” Dean says, almost choking on it. “Are you crazy? I freaked him out enough as it is.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that.”

“Maybe there was a reason he got up and left.”

“Yeah, because he’s realized I’m a pathetic crybaby with a massive crush on him, and he couldn’t wait to get out.”

“Okay, but he’s still here,” Charlie points out. “And you know what, Dean, I’ve been telling you to talk to him for months, and you’ve been ignoring me, and on top of everything else, now you’re hiding shit from me.”

“I wasn’t hiding this from you,” Dean tries to say, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears. “I was gonna tell you. Eventually.”

“You only told me because I cornered you.”

“Not true.”

“Okay. When would you have told me?” 

Dean scowls at her. “I said—” 

“Eventually is not a real answer,” Charlie cuts him off. She lets his hand go to drop back on the bed; Dean follows her lead. “Why didn’t you tell me when it happened? Hell, why didn’t you at least tell Benny?”

“Because—Because I knew that I fucked up, okay?” Dean says, eyes glued to the ceiling. “Because I knew that I’d never hear the end of it when I told you what an idiot I am.”

“First of all you’re not an idiot,” Charlie tells him firmly. “A little dense maybe, but hey, at least you have a pretty face.”

Dean can’t help but crack a smile at that, and Charlie elbows him at the side, the sharp pain made blunter by the layers of foam covering Dean. 

“And I’m not chewing you out now, am I?”

“Only because you feel sorry for me I have to spend the day as a sad sausage.”

“I do feel sorry for your sad sausage if the last time you had sex was half a year ago,” Charlie says, hiding her giggling into the palm of her hand. 

“Hey,” Dean says.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” She turns to face him, biting down a smile, and despite himself, Dean feels his own lips tilt up in response. Charlie always has this effect on him. “But seriously, if you don’t take your relationship with Cas to the next level, I _will_ crucify you.”

Dean almost laughs hysterically at that. “Take it to the next level? Charlie, after everything, I’m pretty sure the guy is not into me. I’m pretty sure I make him uncomfortable.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that.”

“Jesus, we’re going nowhere with this conversation.” Charlie pushes herself on her elbows. Stares down at Dean. “I’ll say this only once, so pay attention. Get your act together and talk to him.”

Dean mimics her posture, shoulders sagging. “And tell him what exactly? It’s not an easy conversation you know.”

“Well, why don’t you tell him what you told me about Aaron? I think that might help.”

“I—” Dean opens his mouth to say, but he’s interrupted.

There’s the _knock-knock-knock_ of someone at the door, and then Cas pokes his head inside, his bun costume barely fitting through the half-opened door. “Hey,” he says, eyes flicking between the two of them. “Sorry, I—the others are ready to go back to our movie watching.”

Charlie and Dean exchange a quick look, but before Dean can decide if Charlie is wondering if Cas heard anything of what they were talking about, Charlie shoots up. “Let’s go. I hope you guys were fair with the pizza distribution, I’m starving.”

“I believe Eileen saved you two pepperoni slices and two veggie-lover,” Cas says, holding the door open for them to pass through.

“What about the one with the cream cheese stuffed crust?” Charlie asks and she sounds genuinely worried she’s too late for it. 

“I believe there’s some of that left, too,” Cas reassures her with a soft smile that makes butterflies settle in Dean’s stomach. Now if only that smile was for him. 

Charlie curses under her breath and hurries to secure her pizza slices—a wise choice, Dean thinks. Sam can eat as much as all of them combined if he’s hungry. In her wake, she leaves Dean and Cas, squeezed in a corridor too narrow for their costumes. 

“Hey,” Dean says, like the idiot he is. 

“Hi.” A beat. Then, just as Dean’s thinking that maybe he should say something more, Cas adds, “Shall we? The others really are waiting.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

It’s not only that Dean is scared to talk to Cas, though that is definitely a big reason he’s avoiding The Talk, it’s also that Cas seems to sense that there’s something looming between them, and he’s doing his damn best to avoid it. Which of course only proves that Dean is right. Cas is not into him, and Dean is only going to embarrass himself if he speaks up.

As they settle back on the couch to continue their marathon, Dean eyes the empty space between them one more time. It looks too big to cross today. 


	9. Thanksgiving

If there’s one thing Castiel has learned about the Winchesters is that they go all out with their food. So, by all means, it’s Castiel’s fault for not realizing that the first of November could only mean one thing for Dean: Thanksgiving fever. 

All Dean can talk about, or think about, or, Castiel suspects, dream about, is the upcoming Thanksgiving feast. There’s an endless list of preparations that Dean keeps in his pocket at all times, endless phone calls with Ellen about grocery shopping and meal planning and endless arguments about who should bring what. Whether they’ll have an oven-roasted turkey or a deep-fried one (Dean argues they should have both), and, frankly, Castiel tries to keep up, but he can’t. Most days he feels like Phoebe’s bride to Monica’s maid of honor, except the Thanksgiving version of that episode. Belatedly, he realizes he only knows that reference because _Friends_ is Dean’s background-noise show.

It’s a month shy of the first time they met, and Dean has crawled under Castiel’s skin and made himself comfortable there. Castiel knows more about him than he does about some of his exes. He and Inias were dating for two and a half years, but Castiel can’t recall what his favorite movie was, let alone what his background-noise show was.

Point is, Castiel is screwed.

Because despite all the promises he made himself, he got attached. Worse, he fell for Dean. And the only way this can end for him is heartbreak. 

“—Earth to Cas. Hello?”

There’s a hand in front of him, fingers snapping, and Castiel blinks back to the present. 

“Dude,” Dean says, leaning with his hip against the counter, a very rude streak of flour painting his face from the nose to his chin. “Where did you go just now?”

“Oh, you know.” Castiel waves with his hand vaguely. Not a single excuse springs to mind. “Work stuff,” he settles for at last.

“The hospital’s been working you pretty hard lately, huh?” Dean asks, accepting Castiel’s answer with a skeptical nod. “You should ask for some time off.”

“You know I can’t do that, I’m needed there.”

Castiel, conveniently, forgets to mention he’s been asking for all the extra shifts. Work is his escape. Mentally and physically. When he’s working he has more important stuff to think about than the way Dean’s freckles become more prominent under the sun, and, big bonus, he doesn’t need to come up with an excuse not to hang out with Dean. 

“You’re going to work yourself to an early grave—hey, can you get me that cookie cutter? No, the other one that’s shaped like a leaf—yeah, that one—I’m just saying, a break might be nice.”

Castiel passes the cookie cutter over and watches as Dean carefully creates leaves out of the crust he has rolled out in front of him. There are two apple pies in the oven already, and Dean’s decorating the pumpkin pie right now, so that means only the pecan pie is left for them to make, which Castiel should have been preparing the filling for. Instead, he has been staring at the corn syrup in his hand for the last he’s-not-actually-sure-how-many minutes.

Dean places the crust leaves on the pie so it creates a half-moon shape with some leaves escaping to the empty space, looks at Castiel, and raises an eyebrow. 

Oh. He’s expecting an answer then.

“You work a lot, too,” Castiel points out, weakly. “You have twenty four hour shifts more than twice a week, and you work at the Roadhouse on your free days. That’s more hours than I spend at the hospital.” But only barely.

“Dude, we don’t get as many calls at the fire station as the patients you see at the hospital.”

“I get the sleep that I need. I don’t need more free time.”

Dean’s mouth twists downward. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Frowns down at the pumpkin pie. “At least you got today and tomorrow off, right? Get to celebrate Thanksgiving like a Winchester.” 

It’s not what Dean was about to say, but Castiel lets it slide. He’s not about to poke a sleeping bear, because then he’ll have some answers of his own to provide. Like why he doesn’t go to the Roadhouse when Dean’s working anymore, or why he sometimes answers Dean’s texts days later. 

“Cas?”

Yes, Castiel is an asshole. But it’s the only way he knows how to protect himself. 

“Cas?!”

A hand lands on his shoulder, and Castiel jerks away surprised.

Dean raises his arms, showing he’s not a threat. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He chews on his lower lip. “You can go lie down in my bed if you’re not feeling well. I can finish the pies by myself.”

“No, no. I want to help.” Castiel shakes himself out of his thoughts. He’s not here to waste Dean’s time, he’s here to help. Definitely not here to lie down in Dean’s bed either. Especially not since the one and only time he did that he spent the entire night staring at Dean until the first hint of light appeared and he decided he might as well sneak out now. He spent the next couple of days both kicking himself for not making a move and being glad he didn’t make a move because Dean doesn’t _like_ like him. Dean was drunk, and Castiel would have been an asshole for taking advantage. 

At least Kali giving birth a week early was enough of a distraction for him to stop having intruding what-if thoughts in the middle of the day (and the entire night.) It was also another excellent excuse to avoid Dean as much as possible. 

For a second there, Castiel thought he could do this, he thought he could be friends with Dean, until Halloween happened, and he overheard that conversation about a guy named Aaron. He’s been burning with curiosity since then. Both wanting to know and running through all the worst-case scenarios in his head.

But again, he’s not here to interrogate Dean about his love life. He’s here to help.

And help he does. He picks up the corn syrup again, and stares at it hard. 

The knowledge of how to make a pecan pie filling does not manifest in his mind on sheer willpower alone. 

“Where’s the recipe again?”

“Mmm? Oh, I’m trying a new recipe this year. Benny texted it to me yesterday, just check our messages.” Dean holds out the phone for Castiel without looking up, too engrossed in getting the crust he’s rolling out at the perfect thickness. 

Castiel hesitates. Dean is still holding his phone out, though, so it must be okay. 

The phone opens with a simple swipe, but it’s not Dean’s conversation with Benny that Castiel sees. It’s his conversation with Charlie.

Castiel’s not one to pry, but even with how he immediately taps to close the conversation, he still catches a glimpse of Charlie’s last texts to Dean: 

**_Charlie:_ ** _whatever_ _  
_ **_Charlie:_ ** _at least I hope you get some since you'll be ditching me on nye_

 **_Dean:_ ** _if you jinx it I will kill you_

What that even means, Castiel has no idea. The name Aaron flashes in all blinking neon in the back of his mind, and that twists in his stomach uncomfortably. He does, however, have the decency to flush with shame at going through Dean’s phone. 

Dean hasn’t noticed anything, so Castiel quickly finds the recipe and forwards it to his own phone. 

They have work to do if they want to be ready for tomorrow—other than the pies they also have to prep the green bean casserole so all Dean has to do the next day is put it in the oven—and Castiel throws himself head first into it. 

He and Dean work side by side, shoulders brushing in the little room they’re afforded in Dean’s tiny kitchen, their conversation staying firmly on safe topics. He does wonder about Dean’s plans for New Year’s Eve, but he doesn’t ask. 

* * *

“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” Gabriel pants, already out of breath. His turkey hat slips over his brow and he pushes it back with a groan.

Ignoring his question, Castiel settles for reminding him to inhale through his nose, exhale through his mouth. Castiel knows how to pace himself for a 5K, knows how to find comfort in the pain of his muscles, the burning of his lungs. Even relishes in it. Gabriel on the other hand...

“Seriously, I could be eating warm cinnamon rolls right now. With coffee. In the comfort of my own home—better yet! I could be sleeping!”

“I didn’t exactly threaten you to come here,” Castiel points out through gritted teeth. He runs at a slower pace than normal so that Gabriel can keep up, but running is still running. His black tee is soaked through, the turkey face printed on the front of it sticking against his chest. 

“I thought I’d only be watching you! Maybe take a couple of embarrassing pictures of you in an orange tutu,” Gabriel complains. “I didn’t realize that I’d have to run too, let alone that we would be doing it at the asscrack of fucking dawn.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “The sun’s out, Gabe. And I’ve never worn an orange tutu.”

Although he did wear a turkey costume one year. Jimmy has a picture framed on his desk, to Castiel’s horror.

“Just because the sun’s out doesn’t mean I have to be up! I have a newborn baby at home, Cassie, I need all the sleep I can get.”

“Please stop complaining,” Castiel snaps. 

Gabriel pouts. “If I’m not complaining then I have to think about how much more running I have to do, so please do something to keep my brain busy or I will lie in the middle of the road and stay there until you cross the finish line and run back here to get me.”

In hindsight, asking Gabriel to come with him to the Turkey Trot might not have been his brightest idea, Castiel has to admit. Well, not much he can do about it now.

“Fine,” he says. “But if anyone’s doing any complaining then it’s me.”

“Oh, please. No more crying about that Aaron guy,” Gabriel begs.

“I’m not crying!”

“Moping, brooding, call it whatever you want.”

There’s a headache throbbing behind Castiel’s eyes. He tightens his jaw and keeps running, picking up his pace.

Behind him, Gabriel sighs, curses. There’s the sound of steps catching up to him, then a hand on his shoulder spinning him around, and they both stand still in the middle of the race, staring at each other.

“Did you ask Dean about Aaron?” Gabriel asks, doubling over, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.

“No,” Castiel replies. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Dean, I kind of eavesdropped on you and Charlie and heard that you may have feelings for a dude named Aaron?’”

“That’s a good start,” Gabriel says with a pained smirk—an asshole even when he can barely breathe. “And from what you told me, Dean-o didn’t say he has feelings for him. He just said that he needs to talk to you about him.”

A horde of people runs past them, some of them turning their heads to stare at them with mild curiosity. Castiel ignores them, opening his arms out helplessly. “Why else would he need to talk to me about another guy? The only reason is if he’s dating someone for real so there’s no need for us to pretend anymore.”

The name _Aaron_ has been sitting heavily on the tip of his tongue for weeks now, the question always lurking at the forefront of his mind. More vividly and torturously since yesterday and that cursed text. He still hasn’t found the courage to ask. Maybe if Dean doesn’t actually say it, then Castiel doesn’t have to worry about it. Nothing has to change. They can still be friends, and Castiel can keep whatever feelings he has locked deep inside until he’s over them. 

A hand on Castiel’s shoulder to help pull himself right back up, Gabriel, red faced and with a frown that falls almost down to his chest, says, “You should find someone else to date, too.”

“How is that a solution?” Castiel asks. 

“You need to get laid, bro,” Gabriel says, hand leaving his shoulder to pat Castiel’s cheek instead. “And stop using running to work through the frustration.”

Castiel slaps his hand away. “I don’t need to ‘get laid’,” he says, and turns away. “And speaking of running, come on. We need to catch up to the others or we’ll never finish.”

“Jesus Christ! Have mercy on me, Cassie. I want to be alive long enough to see my daughter go to college. Or at the very least make it to Dad’s house for turkey today.”

Castiel starts a slow jog on the spot to get his blood pumping again. “If you shut your mouth and start breathing like I showed you, you _will_ make it to Dad’s house.”

“Will I also make it to the finish line without throwing up?” 

“We’ll see.”

“For fuck’s—oh, fine! Let’s go. The sooner we’re done with this the better.”

* * *

The table is overflowing with food, the house brimming with chatter. They are squeezed around the table, hands flying over plates to grab this and that, shoulders brushing in the process. Even with Sam and Eileen not there it’s a pretty tight fit. 

With Sam and Eileen not there it’s certainly too much food for the six of them. Dean insists it’s fine since leftovers are the best part of Thanksgiving anyway— _pie for breakfast, Cas, can’t beat that_ —and even better when Sam will bring back leftovers from Eileen’s family, too. There’ll be no need to cook for at least a few days. 

There’s the parade on the TV but no one is paying much attention to that, the volume turned almost silent as they all take their turn to say what they are thankful for. It’s really not that different from how the Novaks do it, except for when Bobby admits he’s thankful for the new gigantic TV he got for his birthday and Ellen kicks him under the table. After some grumbling, Bobby changes his mind and says he’s thankful for the Roadhouse getting more regulars lately. Jo snorts into her plate.

“Alright, Dean. Your turn,” Ash insists, a hand around the back of Jo’s chair. 

“Obviously I’m thankful for the pie,” Dean says, and judging from the thud and the way he jerks away from the table, Ellen kicked him, too. He raises his arms in surrender. “Alright, alright, Jesus, I’ll think of something else.”

Whether conscious or not, Dean turns towards Castiel, and their eyes lock. Dean looks away. After a beat too long to be anything but awkward, he recovers. A shit-eating grin splits his face. “I am thankful for a certain Novak brother texting me a picture of Cas in a turkey costume.”

Castiel sighs heavily, maybe even exaggerating a bit, but it’s all worth it to see Dean’s grin widen. Still, Castiel has a reputation to uphold. He narrows his eyes, takes a moment to think. “And I am thankful to have people in my life who appreciate me, and who are nice to me, and don’t gang up on me with my brother.”

Ash laughs, loud and boisterous, but Castiel only has eyes for the way Dean’s face lights up. 

“Babe, you know the only reason I tease you is because I like you best, right?”

Castiel’s heart doesn’t skip a beat at _babe_. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

“You should blame Gabe, not me.”

“I blame both of you.”

“Ugh, gross. They’re making bedroom eyes at each other again,” Jo comments, and it’s only then Castiel realizes he and Dean have been staring at each other for far longer than what is appropriate. Jo mimics shivering. “And right in front of my salad, too.”

That earns her a slap on the shoulder from her mother, and Jo sticks her tongue out at her, rubbing over the painful spot. Before things can escalate, Bobby calls them all idjits and asks for a knife. 

From then on it’s a lot of food, a lot of alcohol, then even more food, to the point Castiel has to beg Ellen to stop refilling his plate. There’s a serious danger the button on his jeans might explode at this rate, and he’d rather not do it in front of Dean’s family. He does allow Jo to serve him one of her homemade pumpkin cupcakes, but only one. No matter how delicious it is, Castiel is pretty sure it gets stuck somewhere above his Adam’s apple, the last in a long queue of food waiting for its turn to be digested. 

Slowly they migrate to the living room, ready for a movie, and Castiel takes his usual place on the old armchair. Bobby is not as strict about seats when the Superbowl isn’t on the line, but Castiel would feel weird to sit anywhere else at this point. They settle down, some leftovers moved close for anyone that might still want to snack, and after some petty bickering between Jo and Dean, they choose a movie. 

Slowly, the sun shifts, the shadows become longer, taking up almost the entire room until the only light inside the room is the glow of the TV screen. Castiel dozes, not really paying attention. His belly is full, his body is warm, and it’s quiet. For a moment he could pretend this is real and even believe it. He could pretend Dean means it every time he winks suggestively at him.

He could.

But of course, the illusion is shattered when the credits roll, and Jo stands up to roll her shoulders, too. She stretches her back until it pops, then twists to grab a throw pillow and toss it at Dean.

“Hey, loser. Check the group chat, will ya? Charlie wants us to vote on which New Year's Eve party we’ll book tickets for.”

On instinct, Castiel sinks into the armchair, grip on the arms tightening. He doesn’t look at Dean and Dean doesn’t look at him either. 

“Cas and I haven’t talked about New Year’s yet.”

“Oh, you guys celebrating with Cas’ family this year?” Ash asks, still nursing his last beer—to keep Bobby company, supposedly, though Bobby stopped drinking hours ago.

Castiel can’t help himself. He turns to look at Dean and catches the way his shoulders rise ever so slightly, tense before he can school whatever expression he’s wearing into something disinterested. 

“Maybe,” Dean lies. “Gabe said it’ll be nice for the whole family to be there for the baby’s first holidays.”

He doesn’t ask Cas to agree, so Castiel doesn’t. Though Jo drops the topic, Castiel thinks of the texts he’d seen on Dean’s phone. 

Dean has plans for New Year’s Eve alright. 

They’re just not with him. 

* * *

Castiel calls an Uber without telling Dean. He graciously thanks Bobby and Ellen for their hospitality, claps Ash on the back and refuses to smoke with him. He promises to stop by the Roadhouse soon to have a drink with Jo, though. And then he’s ready to go.

Dean’s hot on his heels, still shrugging his coat on, the movement awkward and stilted since he’s holding a bag full of tupperware in one hand. 

“Hey, wait. Not all of us ran a marathon this morning to burn off the food.”

“5K,” Castiel corrects half-heartedly. He checks his phone. The Uber should be here in a couple of minutes. 

He stops a few feet away from the Impala, trying to make sense of the buzzing in his chest. There’s Dean, breath coming out in a curl of mist, hair spiky from running his fingers through it, green eyes soft. 

Castiel chickens out. He wanted to confront Dean about everything but whatever he was going to say gets buried under a mountain of conflicting thoughts. Maybe he should just cancel the Uber, get in the Impala, keep pretending.

“Hey, about what I said in there,” Dean starts, and Castiel’s stomach drops. “About New Year’s Eve, I know we haven’t talked about it, but I, um, actually…”

Dean hesitates. 

Castiel’s resolution rises up again, a wall tall and thick between them. This is Dean about to tell him he’s dating someone. Dean has found someone else. Dean is in love with someone else. He doesn’t need Castiel anymore.

The name _Aaron_ rings loud and incessant in his ears.

Castiel can’t bear to hear it. 

“Listen, Dean,” he says, voice hoarse. “I’ve been thinking a lot about… about us,”— _Jesus, what us?_ Castiel’s pathetic—“and I don’t think it’s working for me anymore.”

Dean starts. Blinks. “What?”

Castiel swallows past the lump in his throat. “What we’re doing, it’s wrong. We should stop.”

“What are you talking about, man? I thought this was working well for both of us.”

“I just—Our families have gotten too involved—”

“If this is about what your father said months ago—”

“It’s not just that,” Castiel cuts him off. Closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. “I mean, yes, it’s that too. But also, it’s been almost a year, Dean. We can’t keep this up for much longer, so I think it’s just best if we end our charade here.”

Dean shakes his head, slowly. “You don’t mean that.”

“It’s easier for everyone involved,” Castiel insists. He can feel his hands starting to shake so he shoves them in his pockets, tight fists that hopefully won’t betray how close to breaking down he is. “We can just pretend we broke up because we were too busy to see each other, and, I don’t know, maybe after a few months we can try being friends.”

If Castiel’s feelings have faded by then. He highly doubts it.

“Cas,” Dean tries, but Castiel’s phone pings, and the Uber driver presses his horn once, short and chipper.

Castiel checks over his back. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“Cas, wait. We need to talk about this.”

Castiel turns and walks away, knees threatening to give out with his every step. Sooner than he’d like, he’s reached the car and is opening the door. Dean doesn’t stop him.

“Goodbye, Dean.”


	10. Christmas

Dean shuts the door behind him, walks inside his apartment without turning on any lights and throws his coat in the general direction of his couch. Whether or not the coat lands where it’s supposed to is not something he feels like checking. 

Christmas Eve dinner with his family was… difficult, all things considered. Even more so because he never actually told anyone he and Cas broke up (even though they weren't ever actually together in the first place despite what Dean had been hoping for) and so, he had to suffer through several hours of everyone gushing about how nice Cas is, and how polite, and how lucky Dean is to be dating someone like that—and how lucky _they_ are that Starla was not invited this year. Meanwhile Dean wondered why couldn’t he just drop dead by sheer willpower alone. 

He collapses on his bed head first, boots and clothes still on. Lying there, face pressed into the mattress until he can’t breathe, he replays the entire night in his head, comes up with a dozen instances he could have come clean about him and Cas and convinces himself all over again that not telling them was the right choice. It seemed easier to avoid the subject then. Of course, when Ellen hugged him goodbye and told him she expects to see Cas tomorrow for the gift exchange, Dean, covered in cold sweat and unable to answer, hightailed it out of there. 

Fuck. 

What is he going to tell them? How is he going to face everyone tomorrow and tell them he and Cas broke up without even a good excuse for it?

He rolls on his back with a long sigh. The room is too dark to actually stare at anything, but Dean still stares at his ceiling hard enough that his eyes start stinging. He can’t do it. He can’t look Ellen in the eye and tell her Cas is not coming. 

Fuck.

_Shitfuckfuckfuckfuck._

Dean rolls over again, this time bringing his knees under him to sit on his heels. He drops his phone on the bed and stares at it. 

One last time. He and Cas can pretend to be together one last time, maybe drop a few hints here and there about their relationship souring, and then, maybe, everyone will get the hint and won’t bother Dean when he announces their break up. He just needs one more time. 

He has the message typed and sent before he can change his mind.

 **_Dean:_ ** _Hey, Cas, I know you said we have to end this but I was hoping you’d help me one more time_ _  
_ **_Dean:_ ** _As a favor_ _  
_ **_Dean:_ ** _I kinda haven’t told my folks we broke up_ _  
_ **_Dean:_ ** _I mean it’s Christmas, I don’t want them to be upset on Christmas_ _  
_ **_Dean:_ ** _You know?_

Okay, so it’s more like a string of messages, getting more and more desperate as Dean reads them over and over again.

Dean hasn’t dared to consider what he’ll do if Cas doesn’t even answer, but his stomach still flips surprised when an answer arrives barely a minute later.

 **_Cas:_ ** _I don’t understand what you want me to do. I told you I’m not comfortable lying to everyone anymore. I’m sorry, Dean, but I can’t help you this time._ _  
_ **_Cas:_ ** _Why don’t you ask Aaron to come with you tomorrow?_ _  
_ **_Cas:_ ** _I wish you a merry christmas, though. Extend my well wishes to your family as well. Charlie too._

Dean’s hand itches to throw his phone at the wall just to watch it crack and break. He doesn’t. He only strips down, pulls the covers over himself, and waits for sleep.

* * *

There’s no plan when Dean finally arrives at Ellen and Bobby’s. The sky above him is grey and heavy, the air chilly where it touches his exposed face over his scarf. They just might have a white Christmas this year, if the weatherman is to be trusted.

He just saunters up the stairs and knocks on the door, hands full of gift bags. He’s greeted warmly, of course, he is, and rushed inside, where there’s warm coffee and hot chocolate waiting for him, a breakfast buffet courtesy of Jo and Ash arriving early in the morning to help Ellen set up everything, and Bobby in his ugly Christmas sweater. It’s part of a set Jo bought for the two of them years ago as a joke, and Bobby, the old sap, still wears it every year, daring anyone to comment with a raised eyebrow. Jo, of course, always wears hers, too. She grins at Dean from where she’s kneeling by the Christmas tree with Eileen, trying to make space for all the gifts that have accumulated in the last few days. The gifts Dean brings are the last to join the pile.

“Dean, I saved you and Cas some blueberry pancakes,” Ellen says, helping him out of his coat. “You know how easily Sam can eat two whole batches by himself.”

Dean’s stomach drops through the floor, even as Sam is heard complaining from the kitchen that he runs every morning and therefore needs the extra calories while Dean needs something that won’t make his cholesterol worse. Dean can’t find it in him to argue back. Every muscle in his body feels stiff and awkward, and all of a sudden, he’s not sure what to do with his hands. He didn’t expect to have to deal with this so soon. “Thanks, Ellen, but um, Cas is not coming.”

Ellen frowns, eyebrows pulling together. “Why not? Did something happen?”

“What happened?” Ash and Sam finally appear, the first with a bowl of fruit no one will touch until Ellen forces them to, and the latter drying his hands on a towel. Every single pair of eyes in the room is fixed on Dean.

And really, Dean could lie again. He could say Cas was busy, or that he was spending Christmas with Gabe, Kali and the new baby, but really, what good would that do? It’s not like Cas is coming back. Dean would only be prolonging the inevitable.

Looking into Ellen’s warm eyes, now filled with worry, Dean can’t do it. He can’t lie to her. Not about where Cas is. Not about anything. 

“Why don’t you all sit?” he says, addressing mostly the floor. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

* * *

Stunned silence follows the end of Dean’s explanation. He told them everything that happened this past year. How he met Castiel, how they decided to pretend to be together, how it worked so perfectly they decided to keep it up. How Cas just suddenly decided to end things.

“Wait, are you trying to tell me you and Cas were never actually together?” Sam asks, brows practically touching his hairline. “All this time… everything… it was all a lie?”

“Yes.”

“So New Year’s Eve…” Jo trails off.

“Yes.”

“And the Super Bowl…” Ash says

“Yes.”

“Fourth of July?” Eileen asks

“That, too,” Dean confirms. He feels bone tired. But at least a weight has lifted off his chest. The truth is out now, and they can do whatever they want with it. “Halloween, every time we went out for a drink, those times we went to the movies for double dates, they were all a lie.”

Bobby shakes his head. “Balls.”

Yeah, Dean agrees with that. Balls.

Ellen reaches a hand to touch Dean’s shoulder gingerly. “Dean, you’ve been lying to us for a whole year. Why?”

“I don’t know. You guys were all so… together, and I was the only one alone, so I thought it might be fun to see what it would be like to bring someone everyone would like and approve of, except you approved of him so much that I got kinda carried away.”

“You lived a lie to keep us happy?” Ellen asks, and something in her voice breaks. For a second, Dean thinks she’s about to cry, but then she blinks, mouth turning into a hard line and she slaps his shoulder. “Dean Winchester, I can’t believe you did this. If you were feeling lonely you could have talked to us about it instead of coming up with a scheme to invite a stranger to keep you company. And if you think that I would only be happy for you if you’re in a relationship, you’re an idiot.”

“An idjit,” Bobby offers.

“An idjit,” Ellen agrees. “We’re all so proud of you, for working hard, for growing up to be a wonderful, giving, good man, and we don’t give a rat’s ass whether or not you’re single. ”

“Even if you choose to hook up with every single woman that shows up at the Roadhouse,” Jo says. She frowns. “As long as her name is not Starla and she doesn’t spend the holidays with us,” she adds hastily.

“We all liked Cas,” Ellen says, and with a hand under Dean’s jaw forces him to meet her eye. “But we _love_ you. And we want you to be happy. No matter how that happiness looks for you. So please, Dean, next time there’s anything we do that makes you feel uncomfortable or alone, talk to us.”

Something Dean didn’t even know existed unclenches in his chest. He’s too old for chick-flick moments, but when Ellen pulls him in he readily sinks into her arms and accepts her fierce hug, bone-crushing and all. Tears prick behind his eyes. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Ash jumps in. Literally jumps in, hands sneaking between Ellen and Dean to pull them apart. He spins Dean around to face him, “Are you trying to tell me that everything was fake?”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“You’re shitting me,” Ash tells him, ignoring the way Ellen barks _language!_ at him. “Dude, I know you. You’re not that good of an actor.”

“Yeah, Ash is right,” Jo says, looking to Eileen for support. “We’ve never seen you like this with anyone else before.”

“Maybe Lisa,” Sam offers, and murmured agreements fill the room. “I mean the way you looked at him—”

“Constantly and endlessly,” Eileen says with a long-suffering sigh.

“—the way you were around him,” Sam continues. “It was all an act?”

Jo rolls her eyes. “What Sammy is trying to say is, how is it possible that you two never fucked?” 

“Jo!” Ellen snaps, glaring at her daughter, only for Bobby to jump to Jo’s defense.

“Let the girl speak,” he growls. “She has a valid point, those two were a step away from jumping each other every time I saw them. And, depending on his answer, I might need to clean and load my shotgun.”

“No shotguns,” Dean yells, raising a warning finger in Bobby’s direction. “And I swear, Cas and I, we never,”—his eyes find Jo and her shit-eating grin, and his cheeks grow several degrees hotter—“uh, slept together. Or anything.” And then just because he’s already told them everything else so he might as well unload his whole baggage, he adds, “Not because _I_ didn’t want to. It was, uh, Cas wasn’t interested. I guess.”

“It’s his damn loss,” Bobby declares, punching the arm of his chair. In a swift motion, he stands up, passes his coffee cup to Jo and struts to the kitchen. “Ellen, where’s the whiskey? We’ll need something stronger than hot chocolate today.”

“It’s too early for whiskey,” she chastises loudly, though her eyes do roam Dean’s face in a silent question; Dean shakes his head. “I can add rum to your coffee, if you want,” she offers instead, and yeah, that might be better idea. 

Seemingly satisfied, Ellen trails after her husband, the hushed noise of them having an argument on whiskey vs rum drifting back to the living room. Ash, Jo, Eileen and Sam are still staring at Dean. 

After several awkward seconds, Jo huffs. “Well, Cas is an ass. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she says as Eileen pinches her arm to make her shut up, only for her face to grow harder. “It’s the truth. Dean’s awesome, and Cas is an idiot for not realizing it. Want me to slice his tires?”

“Cas doesn’t drive,” Ash reminds her. “But we can hack his computer and find all sorts of embarrassing stuff.”

“We can cover his father’s garden in toilet paper,” Eileen adds, obviously only half-joking.

“Guys, no,” Dean says. “Not that I don’t appreciate all your offers, but don’t do any of that. I’m a big boy, okay? I can handle rejection. Besides, it’s Christmas! We won’t ruin our holidays for a relationship that wasn’t even real, right?”

Half-hearted agreements follow his question—Jo insists she can still find one of the Novaks and slice their tires—but for now they settle around the room, accept the new cups Ellen passes them and prepare to exchange gifts. When Eileen and Jo hurry to hide a couple of boxes clearly labeled _‘for Cas’_ behind the couch, Dean pretends he doesn’t notice. 

He can feel Sam’s stare heavy on him throughout the whole thing, and the fact that his brother is the only one who hasn’t offered his opinion on everything yet hasn’t escaped Dean. He figures Sam will say his piece later, though. It’s how the two of them have always worked since they were children.

* * *

As predicted, Sam waits for the perfect moment to corner Dean—i.e., several hours after Dean has returned home and is prepared to spend the night cuddling with a six pack and binging Dr. Sexy. Dean’s not even surprised when he opens his door to find Sam there, though he does appreciate the extra beers his brother holds up. The more the merrier. 

“Sammy! Took you long enough.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d prefer to spend some time alone today or not,” Sam says, dropping the beers on the table and shrugging off his coat. A couple of snowflakes still clinging to the wool melt almost instantly; huh, Dean hadn’t even noticed it started to snow.

“Since Eileen is having dinner with her parents I thought I’d drop by and check in on you,” Sam adds. 

Dean takes a sip of his beer straight from the bottle. “Won’t the in-laws miss you?”

“Eileen explained I have a family situation to deal with.”

“Wow, a family situation, huh? Is that what getting drunk with your older brother is called these days?”

“We’re not getting drunk,” Sam says. 

Dean stares at him. 

Sam sighs. “Dean, seriously. I didn’t bring you beer so you can black out.”

“Too bad,” Dean says dryly, and like the little shit he is, he takes a deliberately long swing. Almost downs the whole thing. 

Judging from Sam’s bitch face, his brother is not impressed. 

“Look, if you’re here to talk about me lying to everyone,” Dean starts, only for Sam to cut him off. 

“I don’t care about the lying.” He winces. “Actually, that’s not true. I guess I’m here partly because you lied but also because you didn’t.”

Dean blinks. “You lost me.”

“You said yourself not everything was a lie, didn’t you? At least not on your part.”

“Oh.” Dean rolls the bottle between his palms. The sticker is coming loose from the condensation at one corner and he picks at it. “Yeah. I guess I did say that.”

“Did you… are you in love with him?”

Dean looks up sharply. He swallows. What’s even the point in denying it now? “Yeah. I think I was.”

Sam nods, like he already knew that. “You know I wanted to ask you if things were serious between you two for a while now,” he says softly. “I meant what I said. I’ve never seen you like that with anyone else. And the way _he_ was acting. I was sure Cas was the one.”

“Turns out he wasn’t.” If there’s some bitterness in Dean’s tone it’s nobody’s business but his own. Sam knows better than to comment on it. “He was just a really good actor.”

“Do you mind if I ask? How did he… break up with you?”

“No, I don’t mind,” Dean says sarcastically. A beat. Clearly, Sam doesn’t get the joke or maybe doesn’t think it’s funny. Dean rolls his eyes. “Fine! If you want to know, he told me that he didn’t want to lie anymore right after Thanksgiving. And you know what the worst part was? I had a whole thing planned for New Year’s Eve for the two of us. A date, a real date. I was going to cook dinner at my place, and I was going to tell him… well, I guess it doesn’t matter what I was going to tell him now. Cas would have thought it was stupid anyway.”

“You were going to confess your feelings,” Sam says, and Dean nods. 

“At least he saved me the humiliation, right? Did you know, I actually asked him to be my fake boyfriend for one last time today, and he said no. Said I should ask Aaron instead, and then wished me a Merry Christmas. I guess it’s my own fault for asking.”

Sam shakes his head. “Who’s Aaron?”

“What Aaron?”

“You just said that Cas told you to ask Aaron instead of him. Who’s Aaron?”

Dean rubs a hand down his face, exhausted. “Just a guy I went on a date with. It was months ago.”

“Okay, and why would Cas think it’s better if you ask Aaron to be your fake boyfriend?”

“How am I supposed to know? It’s not like I told him about the people I fucked.”

“Dean, I’m not following,” Sam says, pressing two fingers against his temples. “You, um, _were_ with a guy named Aaron?”

“Yes, back in March. Wasn’t very good.”

“But you didn’t tell Cas about it?”

“No, why would I?” It’s not like Dean went around bragging about his one night stands. Especially not to someone Dean had a crush on. He may have mentioned he went on a couple of dates early in the year, but he never shared any details.

“So, if you didn’t tell Cas about Aaron,” Sam says slowly, holding Dean’s eye like he has a point he’s getting at and Dean’s just not getting it. Sam makes a gesture like what he wants to say next is obvious.

No, really. Dean’s not getting it. 

Sam groans. “If you didn’t tell Cas about Aaron how did he know about him?”

“Oh.” Dean runs through the past few months and everything he and Cas had talked about. Tries to find an instance the name might have slipped him. Comes up blank. Where did Cas learn about Aaron? And more importantly, why would he think Dean would want Aaron to act as his fake boyfriend? Dean hasn’t even thought about Aaron except for…

Holy shit!

Dean straightens up like he’s been hit by lightning. Holy. fucking. shit. 

* * *

By the time Dean parks in front of Jimmy Novak’s house, a thin blanket of snow has covered up the city, white and fluffy as it clings to tree branches and roofs. The lights on the ground floor of the house are all on, and Dean exhales with relief.

“Do you think Cas is here?” Sam asks, leaning towards the driver’s window to look at the house. 

“There was no sign of anyone at his apartment or Gabe’s house,” Dean says. “He must be here.”

He _must_ be here. Dean doesn’t know where else to look, except maybe the hospital. Or maybe he should wait under Cas’ apartment like a stalker until Cas returns there. Yeah, no. Dean’s not going to risk someone calling the police on him. Not because he minds spending his Christmas at the station, but because it’s unfair for Sam to get arrested, too.

“Maybe try calling him again before knocking on his father’s door?” Sam asks. 

Dean turns a glare on his brother. “Did he pick up the first five times I tried calling him tonight?”

“No.”

“That answers your question.” 

Dean zips up his coat and gets out of the car. With one last glance behind him to see Sam giving him a thumbs up, he turns towards the house. There’s no movement inside, but the dining room is not visible from the front of the house. Hunching his shoulders against the cold and the snow, Dean walks up the porch, takes a steadying breath and rings the bell. 

His heart is ready to beat straight out of his chest, and the longer it takes for someone to come and answer the door, the more he thinks about running. He doesn’t. He won’t. If there’s even one chance that he can get Cas to talk to him, Dean is going to take it. 

There’s the muffled sound of laughter coming closer, then the door opens to shed a blinding light on the porch and Anna, face frozen in a smile that no longer reaches her eyes, stares up at him. “Oh,” she says. “Dean. I didn’t know we were expecting you.”

“Can I talk to Cas, please?” Dean asks. He tries to peer past her inside, but she keeps the door close to her body, clearly not eager to let him in.

She hesitates. He checks behind her, where voices can be heard deeper in the house. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Please,” Dean says. “Just five minutes.”

“I don’t… Dean, I’m not sure,” she tries, clearly at a loss for words. 

Then, there’s another hand on the door, and someone pushes Anna out of the way to take her place. Gabe is shorter than Dean, certainly not as strong, and usually laid-back. Looking at him now, Dean’s a little worried he’s about to get punched.

“Dean-o! To what do we owe the pleasure?” Gabriel asks, though his tone doesn’t match his cheerful words. 

“Is Cas here?”

Gabe brings a finger to his chin, pursing his lips. “You know what? I think he is, but—oh, that’s right! He doesn’t want to see you.”

The words sting like a slap. Dean swallows down the shame and his pride. “Please, Gabe. He won’t answer my calls, and I—”

“Maybe him not answering your calls should be enough of a hint for you to go back to… wherever it is you came from.”

“But I just want to tell him—”

“I don’t care what you want to tell him,” Gabe cuts Dean off. Shoulders tense, spine pulled straight, he almost looks threatening. More than anything, it’s what he says next that makes Dean’s blood go cold. “I know everything, okay? I know everything about the two of you, and I know what’s good for my baby brother, and right now that’s not you. So either get off our porch or I will call the police.”

And with that, he slams the door closed to Dean’s face. 

Ears ringing, Dean stands there for a whole minute before he realizes what Gabriel has said. He knows about him and Cas and their holidate deal. He knows everything, and he won’t let Dean see or speak to Cas. Because apparently, Cas doesn’t want to. So much for all the big talk about them remaining friends, it was all a heap of horseshit. Lost and numb, he turns around, looks at the Impala and Sam frowning at him from inside it. 

He breathes. 

Slowly, the ice in his veins melts, warms up, turns to a boiling roar. 

Like hell he’s letting Gabe order him around! And Cas is a fucking grown up, so if he wants to tell Dean to get lost then he better stop hiding behind his siblings and come tell Dean himself.

Fuming, Dean walks down the stairs and around the house, ignoring Sam knocking on the car window to get his attention, and then ignoring Sam calling him. 

Jimmy’s backyard is surrounded by a hedge, but there’s one spot Dean knows is thin enough for him to squeeze through. Branches catch his coat, thorns scratch at his cheeks and force him to hold a hand over his eyes to protect them. The bushes fight him down to their last, fragile twigs, and he pushes through, ripping the sleeve of his coat in the process, until he stumbles out the other side. With a surprised, choked noise he falls against the trunk of a tree and clings to it while he regains his balance. 

He makes a mental note to tell Jimmy his backyard is very easy to break into at some point. Maybe he can push a note under his door if things with Cas go downhill. 

Speaking of Cas, with a hand braced against the tree, Dean takes in the house again. This time he can see the top of a few heads through the window sitting around the table, but other than Anna, who stands out with her fiery hair, the others are unrecognizable. Knocking on the window and demanding Cas to come out and speak with him will probably scare them to death. Winning someone back—or is it over?—is easier when you don’t come across as a crazy serial killer. 

Mulling that thought over, Dean goes over his options in his head, only for fate to smile down at him. A light goes on up on the second floor, and as Dean watches, breath caught in his throat, someone steps out onto the balcony there. The man is nothing but a dark silhouette against the bright light that spills through the windows, but Dean could recognize him everywhere. 

Cas shuffles forward, careful not to slip on the snow-covered balcony, Dean is sure, and leans against the Christmas-light-wrapped railing. Flashes of colors wash over him, not unlike that time when they had watched the fireworks over the lake together, except it’s softer now, slower. Green blinks under his jaw, fades out only to be replaced by the red glow that catches at Cas’ nose, then yellow, green and back to red again. 

Dean moves deeper in the shadows, taking a moment to watch Cas, breath fogging. This is his chance, the tree is close enough to the house that some of it touches the house, specifically, the balcony—a fire hazard waiting to happen, but tonight he won’t complain.

He reaches up, finds a branch thick enough that will support his weight and hoists himself up and into the crown. It’s one of those trees with thick foliage, which keeps its leaves even in the winter. Dean has to grind his teeth and carefully climb his way through the darkness. He spares a thought to all the cats he’s had to rescue from trees and thinks that maybe they’ve been preparing him for this. The experience certainly comes in hand as he reaches the edge and looks at the couple of feet that separate him from Cas and the several feet that separate him from the ground.

Not giving himself a second to consider what’ll happen to him if he falls, he jumps, and a heart-stopping moment later, he lands on the balcony, face first. 

“What the—” Cas shrieks, flinching.

Dean can hear Cas moving, cursing under his breath, but he’s too busy lying there, snow soaking through his clothes, feeling what will probably be a huge bruise tomorrow, throb on the side of his face.

Then there are hands on him, and Dean lets Cas help him up. 

“Dean!” Cas says, a hand on his jaw to tilt Dean’s face back and inspect the damage, while the other clutches at his torn sleeve. “What are you— how did you get up here?”

“I climbed the tree,” Dean says, voice a little hoarse. 

Cas looks pale and terrified, but whether that’s because Dean almost died or because Cas thought someone was attacking him is still up for debate.

“Are you hurt? Do you need to sit down? Did you—”

Dean shushes him with a gentle touch to his wrist. Cas looks up at him, nose pink from the cold. There are a couple of snowflakes caught in his hair, and Dean has to tamp down the urge to brush them away. His hold on Cas tightens, and he pulls Cas’ hand away only to grab him by the shoulders. 

“Cas, what did you mean when you said I should ask Aaron?”

Cas’ mouth falls open. “Did you hit your head?”

Dean shakes him. “Why would I bring Aaron with me today?” he insists, feeling a little feverish and definitely on the edge of his patience. He can hear voices from inside now, and Dean’s sure with all the noise he made landing, someone will be up to check what happened soon. 

An emotionless mask slipping over his face, Cas tries to pull away. “Why wouldn’t you bring him?” he asks instead of an answer, the words sharp enough to cut. “If you have a boyfriend I don’t see why you need me to parade in front of your family.”

“What boyfriend?”

“Don’t lie to me, Dean,” Cas snaps, and he jerks out of Dean’s hold, mouth pressed into a thin line. “I heard you and Charlie talking about it.”

“Talking about what?” Dean doesn’t yell, but only because there are footsteps coming up the stairs already and screaming will only make them run faster. Now, Gabe, he might be able to take on, but both Gabriel _and_ Michael? Dean doesn’t like his chances. 

Cas huffs and crosses his arms. He’s pressed against the railing, as far away from Dean as he can go in this small balcony. “She said that you need to talk to me about a man named Aaron. And you said you have plans for New Year’s Eve. It’s not that hard to put two and two together.”

Dean laughs, the sound a little hysterical. “Buddy, that’s more like an equation jumping through hoops, not putting two and two together,” he says, shaking his head. He holds his hands up, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible. “Are you jealous?”

“What?” 

“Are you jealous?” Dean asks again, more slowly. He can almost make out the voices now, he’s sure at least Michael and Jimmy are about to enter the room and see Cas and Dean standing on the balcony. He’s running out of time.

Cas raises his chin defiantly, even as his cheeks grow darker with a blush. “So what if I am. I think you’ve made it pretty clear—”

“You idiot,” Dean says under his breath, and darts forward just as the door of the bedroom opens.

Cas’ eyes grow twice their size when Dean cradles his face in his hands and pulls him close. Sending a wish to anyone that might be listening he’s not reading this wrong, Dean pulls Cas in and kisses him.

Cas freezes, a hand fisted into Dean’s coat.

Dean keeps his eyes shut, pulse suspiciously silent.

And then Cas melts against him. 

The door to the balcony bursts open, someone yells something Dean can’t hear over the blood rushing through him, and he’s yanked back.

“You have a lot of nerve,” Michael is saying, pushing Dean until the railing bites into his lower back. 

“Cas said he didn’t want to see you, didn’t he?” Gabe is yelling, despite Jimmy trying to hold him back. 

“I—” Dean says. He looks at Cas, who meets his gaze steadily. He looks as breathless as Dean feels. 

“Let him go, Michael,” Cas says. Then, when Michael doesn’t stand down. “Please. Just give us a moment to talk.”

Neither Michael nor Gabe move. Not until Jimmy orders them both back inside and only after they threaten that they’ll be waiting right outside the bedroom door. 

“You have five minutes; I’m counting,” Gabe declares, pointing two fingers at his eyes and then at Dean in an _‘I'm watching you’_ gesture.

Left on the balcony, Cas and Dean are still staring at each other.

“I think you have some explaining to do,” Cas says, though he doesn’t look mad. Nervous maybe, especially when he licks his lips. 

“I’m not dating Aaron,” Dean says, getting that out of the way as fast as he can. “I went out with him on _one_ date, back in March, and I haven’t seen him since.”

Cas shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t understand. Why did you want to talk to me about him then?”

“What I wanted to say was that I haven’t been on a date with anyone since, because going out with him made me realize who I really want to be with," Dean says.

Cas cocks his head to the side. 

Dean steels himself. There’s nothing left to lose now. “You. I mean you, you idiot. Which you would know if you didn’t jump to all kinds of presumptuous conclusions. I want to date you. Be with you. I love _you_. For real.” 

It's weird how easy the words come to him. It's the simplest thing to speak them, to let the truth out. So easy it makes him wonder why he didn't do it earlier.

Stomach clenching, he watches as a hundred emotions pass over Cas' face, only to settle, at last, into a small timid smile.

"For real?" Cas whispers and takes a step forward.

"For real," Dean answers and moves to meet him in the middle. "And if you must know, it was you I wanted to take on a date on New Year’s—"

Dean never gets to finish that sentence, because Cas swoops in and shuts him up with a lingering kiss. His lips stretch into a smile against Dean's mouth, his hands wrap around Dean to pull him closer, and for a moment no one has to say anything more. Oh, they have to talk, Dean knows that. But as he takes his time kissing Castiel, kissing him for real, with no audience for the first time, snow falling around them, there's nothing important enough to make him want to stop. As if he could ever stop.

Cas is the first to pull away, but only enough to rest their foreheads together. His eyes are warm and soft when he looks up at Dean from under thick lashes.

"Do you think our five minutes are up?" Dean asks, making Cas laugh.

"I'm sure we'll know our time is up from the way Gabe will barge in to separate us again."

"I'm pretty sure your brother wants to beat me up," Dean says, tightening his arms around Cas' middle. "Actually I'm pretty sure both your brothers want to beat me up."

"I'll talk to them. I'm sure they'll understand." Cas slides a hand up the back of Dean's neck to tangle his fingers in his hair and tag a little. "Now kiss me again?"

Dean hums and drops a chaste peck on him.

Cas huffs. "Now give me a real kiss."

"Bossy," Dean complains, biting down his smile.

"Get used to it," Cas says, and this time doesn't hesitate to pull Dean in himself, and kiss him firmly and deeply.

Dean thinks he hears fireworks exploding in the distance. Or maybe kissing Cas is just that perfect.

  
  
  


Epilogue

“Oh shit, I forgot Sammy in the car!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Me while outlining: Okay, let's make this 5-10K  
> Me 35K later: Clearly I failed)
> 
> This is the end of this fic, though I have to say that I'm not ready to leave this verse yet so a couple of timestamps might drop randomly (I HAVE to write a Eurovision chapter, I HAVE to). Don't forget to let me know which was your favorite scene in the comments, I always love hearing from you. If you're looking for more holiday themed fics, I also have these two:
> 
> [ Looking for a Miracle ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22046806/chapters/52616797) : Bestselling crime writer Castiel Novak doesn’t want anything to do with Christmas. Isolated in his house since the death of his wife, he plans to spend another Christ—the Holiday That Shall Not Be Named alone with the ghosts haunting him and the book he can’t seem to write. But when the brash and overconfident housekeeper—who shouldn’t have even shown up on his doorstep—is snowed in at his house by the storm of the century he might have to make a few compromises.
> 
> [ Dean's Nerd Crush (Christmas Edition) ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21902029) : Donna’s Delights holds a party for all their employees and favourite customers, and this year Dean is going to take a chance and invite the man of his dreams to come with him—Jo insists it’s a cute, pressure-free first date after all.
> 
> And there's one more fluffy Christmas story coming this week. To be notified when it's posted you can either subscribe to me as an author or follow me on [ tumblr. ](https://kitmistry.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Happy Holidays!


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